I’d been antsy to start lifting again. After the surgery the doctor told me I wasn’t supposed to do anything more than desk work and straight walking around for six weeks. Which, of course, went out the window somewhat the first day back at work. Because my boss’s ability to believe what she likes is stronger than me telling her “no lifting, just desk work”. Then again, it’s not like I was gonna say no and quit over that, although I came close on more than one occasion.
But anyway, it’s almost the 6-week mark; I’ve already moved house and done more than my share of physical work lately, so yesterday I decided, “Fuck it, I’m going to lift today.”
And I did. And it was a bad, bad idea.
I didn’t, say, start small and work up to my normal routine; no, I straight did the same number of exercises and reps I’d been doing before. And now I feel like I got hit by a fucking train full of godzillas. I don’t know if painkillers will even work, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea anyway. But we’ll see how things are when work hits.