Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.~Mark Twain

I found that to be very true last week.

Matt & I joined Weight Watchers eight weeks ago. We started exercising again, he running 20 miles a week, me doing a little bit of everything. Walking, workout videos, weights, stretching, yoga. At the gym in DeKalb years ago, the guys there called me 'Gumby'; I was pretty flexible, and loved how it felt.

With the weight loss and the increased activity, we both have been feeling better in general. I've often goaded Matt to stretch more, though. He may be younger than me, but that means I should be able to offer him the wisdom of my years. Right? :)

Last Wednesday, after feeding J we played together on the living room rug. I had my workout clothes on; I was psyched to do a combo weights/cardio workout from The Firm. J got a little cranky as nap time neared, so I started to get up, carrying him. My lower back popped. I was blinded. A million 'I wish I'd have known's' to those who have had back problems.

I managed to inch over to the couch and lay J on it. Once there, I realized I had no idea why I wanted to get there. I could barely move. Ten minutes later I'd gotten J into his crib. I emailed Matt about my mishap(he's so rarely at his desk but always has his Treo), saying I'd call the doctor & let him know how I was. Two minutes later I emailed 'Please call me'. I knew I couldn't get J out of his crib, much less drive myself to the doctor.

Five days later, I'm much better. I'm not even taking the muscle relaxers anymore, just Aleve. I've walked twice. I may even try to work out again tomorrow.

The kicker is that I've focused so much on stretching & yoga to make sure I avoided all injuries. Matt does a few hamstring stretches a week. And who got hurt? It's Murphy's Law...