The Agony
Last weekend, at the ARPC Club Match, I sort of appointed myself the 'reset the steel' guy on the last stage ... "Up You Go".
If you've looked at the video, you see that there is a nice little array of five Pepper Poppers and one US Popper. Not too much for one guy to reset, and often someone else would come along to help me with them. We had an enthusiastic squad of workers, more than enough to tape the cardboard, so since I had been the first shooter I figured I could just do the steel and nobody else would have to worry about it.
I should have worried about it.
Somehow, I managed to pull, or sprain, or strain a shoulder muscle. I didn't realize it at the time, but when I got back to town I complained to SWMBO that I was a bit achy and I believed I would take a dollop of The Recipe to relax my muscles.
At bedtime I took a couple of ibuprofen (2oomg each) so I could sleep, and I was sawing wood after no more than five minutes on the pillow.
I really enjoyed that nap, but that was all I got.
Two hours later, I woke up with cramps and what we he-men like to call 'some discomfort'. In real-speak, "This hurts like a summbitch!"
I spent the rest of the night, and all the next day, sitting on the couch wrapped in a heating pad and downing ibuprofen like it was candy. Not that it did much good.
Sunday night I went to bed about 7pm. I got about three hours sleep, even with the heating pad, and the ibuprofen, sleeping on my stomach so I wouldn't put weight on my back.
Monday night I went to bed at 6:30, and didn't get any more sleep than the night before. What was worse, I woke up with a back ache. Apparently I had been compensating for the shoulder and caused some strain to my backstraps.
It was at this point (Tuesday) when SWMBO began gently suggesting that "You ought to go to the doctor and see what he thinks about that". You know, in that whiny wheedling voice that Wives and Lovers use when they know what's good for you, even though they know you're not ever going to go to the doctor while there's breath left in you.
"Oh, I'll be okay. I'll see how I feel tomorrow."
That night I got another four hours sleep, even though I had gone to bed at read my new Lee Child book until 1am, and when Wednesday morning rolled around I dragged myself into the office late and was absolutely worthless. I was so distracted by my back and shoulder, I couldn't even think straight. You know what SWMBO had to say about that.
I should mention that I had been stuffing so much ibuprofen down my gullet that I had heartburn and could barely stand to eat.
"Okay, if I don't feel better by tomorrow, I'll think about going to the doctor."
That night (last night), I finally said to heck with coddling myself, I'm back on my natural biorhythmic schedule. I worked until 7pm, spent four hours on the computer (fueling the muse with a couple of Large Whiskeys), ate a late dinner and watched "The Pink Panther" video tape until 2am. And I hadn't had any ibuprofen for 36 hours.
I slept like a baby. I woke up with the alarm, turned it off, and went back to sleep until 10am. Sure, there were a couple of twinges during the day, but I was alert and awake and full of energy. In fact, I actually was 'productive' for the first time this week. I went for a couple of walks during my breaks, and was generally as active as a desk-bound Geek can be.
If there's a moral to this tale, it must only be that when old fat Geeks baby themselves, they only slide down that slippery slope of self-indulgence. The pain doesn't go away when you spend 10 or 12 hours in bed.
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