Grarrrrr! I hate it when I’m gimpy. I hate it when my pain is noticeable.
Then comes the paradox – I love that people care enough to ask if I’m okay or what’s wrong, but I hate people noticing my pain. I bristle at the sympathy.
I went to see Stone Temple Pilots in Hampton Beach, NH recently and it was “general admission.” Nowhere to sit. I sat on the floor during the opening acts, knowing that my knees would hate me halfway through the main event.
Being hot in there, the bouncers opened the door. I could smell the ocean across the street and feel the cool damp air. It felt great at first and the air quality was wonderful to breathe.
After a while, my knees started to rebel. I alternated the weight of my body on each knee, trying to give each of them a much-needed break.
The sea air …. the sea air and standing…. woof.
By the end of the show, I was limping. Going down the stairs was a painstaking event. Gimping the three blocks to where we parked was embarrassing.
I think my pride hurt worse than my body. In fact, I know it did.
Maybe this is why my symptoms are coming and going. I have more “work” to do on myself. The inside self …. a part of me that anti-inflammatories can’t touch.