No pain, no gain

I used to use this expression a lot when I was younger. That was the time in my life when I was uber-physically fit. Never kid yourself in to thinking that ballet isn't the most physically demanding "sport" of all time. Once when I was studying at the University of Waterloo the ballerinas did the football team's workout and the football team took our classes for a day. We kicked their pussy-wussy butts like you wouldn't believe. They were a bunch of snivelling, whining cry-babies in our classes while we jumped over those hurdles and ran on the spot while simultaneously reading magazines, drinking beer and farting in their general direction.



















That was then. Now - some 30 years later - I find myself the victim of a 5-year-old soft tissue injury that I never properly addressed until it got so I couldn't work with the pain. My life consists mainly of enduring the time between physio appointments, and daily walks and exercise. I'm trying to keep up with the blogs and other writing, but I can't sit for too long at a time.

It's ironic I suppose. The introduction to my book and the first chapter, the foundation for my theory, is all about pain. It's not physical but emotional pain I'm talking about, but of course the two are hooked together in the brain. That's probably why when I succumbed to the various incidents of grief and loss, the pain in my back, neck and head really became unbearable.

In university I used to think "pain" meant something almost good - a phenomenon that let you know where the muscles were really working and getting strong. Something to "push through" and feel good about. But when it comes to emotional pain....well....hold on....I guess it's true just the same.