Each morning before work, I have a bit of a ritual. These old bones of mine don’t appreciate standing for 8 hours a day on a tile floor, or even on black rubber slip-resistant mats. So my ritual is: I have to stretch out my limbs, and then I have to take Tylenol, or some other pain reliever, to preempt the soreness to come.
Gawd I ache! My feet (my poor feet were stuffed into the wrong-sized shoes for two weeks at the start of this Starbucks gig, and never quite recovered), my calves, my low and mid back. I’ve had my hamstrings cramp up at work too, but not for a few weeks. I know this is partially because I weigh too much, but it wasn’t this bad three years ago, the last time I did this job.
To compound this, yesterday evening I spent three hours at the Reston Light the Night walk for Leukemia and Myeloma, and the day before, I was at the rally, where I stood in line, and then at parade rest next to a fence, for four hours. I shouldn’t whine. I should be happy I can stand when so many privileged people don’t have their legs, or even a job. But enough about them! This is my blog, not theirs, and my aging body hurts!
So 10 minutes ago, I took three ibuprofen. In two or three hours, when I get my first break, I’ll down a couple Tylenol. Then on lunch, some ibuprofen. At 1 PM, or thereabouts, I’ll get to come home. Then I collapse onto a couch, and probably fall asleep for a half hour. This seems to recuperate me.
So that’s my ritual. Them’s my drugs. Will you all still love me in five years when you find out I’m at the Betty Ford clinic, addicted to NSAIDs?