It's PT Time

Do you know what these are?

If you do then you are familiar with the self-inflicted hell they call Physical Therapy. I say self-inflicted because in addition to my two tortuous sessions -- which I willingly pay for -- with Amber at the Physical Therapy strip mall center, these deceptive primary colored elastic bands go home with me, so I can continue to abuse my body in excruciating ways I never thought possible.

The reddish pink band goes on my ankles so I can literally Crab Walk from my office, where I earn money to buy gourmet coffee, to my kitchen, where I brew the gourmet coffee, to the bathroom, where I return the gourmet coffee back to the sea.

You've never seen anything so pathetic as a burly, bald 44 year old man, Crabwalking around the house as if I had my shorts around my ankles and discovered at the very last minute there was no toilet paper left on the roll.

The shame is only surpassed by the pain, (if you sign up for physical therapy you're signing up for pain).  Maybe not so much on the first few movements, but by the time you reach double digits, your muscles will be screaming in agony, like the victims of yore who were drawn and quartered.

By the way, I think that when the Democrats finally return to power, I believe many GOP accomplices should be drawn and quartered. Or at the very least, subjected to physical therapy.

Additionally, I'm using the green band to wrap around my ankle, lay on a yoga mat and yank on my quads in a way only NFL and NBA players could.

The yellow band is for the always-dreaded Sideways Clamshell, why are so many of these movements named after crustaceans that scour the bottom of the sea for nourishment? When performed correctly, the Clamshell produces more pain than the original injury that landed me in PT.

The good news is that it is starting to work. Or maybe it's just the hopeful placebo effect.

But it feels like I'm on the road to recovery from a groin muscle pull/hip flexor strain (three doctors have had three different opinions) that has kneecapped me for the past four months. Every physician I have seen thinks the injury was a result of me overdoing it in my garage gym and probably happened while deadlifting an amount of weight a man my age should not be lifting.

Their first piece of sage advice was to cut back on the exercising.

My first response was buy a Peloton.

I'm not only stubborn, I'm stupid. And, it appears, a glutton for punishment.