Dear Friends,Lately, I’ve been playing pain roulette. Well, OK. Not pain, more soreness. In my muscles, the ones I keep forgetting I have until they hurt. Right now, I have my schedule perfectly planned to ensure that I am suffering in a new and different way every single day. I think it’s particularly ingenious. I work out at the gym three days a week, generally Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesday nights, I have ‘Body Shaping’, which is a circuit weight training class combining free weights and stretching. It’s 90 minutes of wanting to die, and I love it. The class environment is good for me, because I’m competitive, which makes me keep going even though my arms have lost sensation and I’m unable to raise them above shoulder-height. I’ve started to say words like ‘reps’ and ‘glutes’ and ‘quads’ without even giggling. After weight training, I’m surprised to find that my arms aren’t as sore as they just feel weak. The aching is focused in muscles I hadn’t previously been aware of: along my sides, over my ribs. You know, the ones involved in breathing. Ouch. On Saturday mornings, I have yoga. I’ve had about six weeks away from yoga class, and I’m glad to be back. I have the best of intentions about practicing at home, but in the rock-paper-scissors of my daily life, doing the dishes, vacuuming, and trying to keep up with email always beat yoga. It’s just the way it is. I’m proud to say I finally did Sarvangasana in class, and managed to stay there for almost ten minutes, despite my suspicion that I would almost certainly break my neck. I mean, who wants to have to admit they’re a yoga paraplegic? Not me. And not being one to get too into the spiritual side of yoga, while others are repeating their mantra and remembering to breathe, I’m thinking, “Thank god I remembered to shave my legs last night.” Mr. Iyengar would be proud. In addition to all that, I have this lingering hip injury. It’s the one that finally sent me skulking to the physical therapist’s office a few months ago, although I did get to see an x-ray of my entire pelvic area, which, I swear to god, if they’d have let me take home you’d be looking at right this second. It’s not every day you get to see these things. Anyway, that visit also led to a protracted battle with HealthPartners over the fact that they would far rather that I suffer and die than fork over the $100 for my medication. The upshot being that my hip is slowly getting better on its own, though it likes to remind me it’s unhappy with me every so often, and also, I have added HealthPartners to my ever-growing list of companies that have clearly accepted Satan as their CEO. Where’s my Aleve? Back to work.