Oh slackness, thy name is Rachel.
From Friday to Monday I was away at a small lovely country house and far, far too busy getting massages and mud wraps, eating as much as possible and drinking my way through Central Victoria to do any exercise at all. Today was therefore the first time I've even shown my face at the gym since some time last week.
Admittedly, I had been working through some dull roaring sciatica and the break has improved the pain in my hip somewhat (ie: it now hurts just at the front instead of all along the iliac crest), but geez Louise ...
Most of my PT session tonight was taken up with some extreme stretching. Ian, as David is away, seriously worked my calf and hip and they certainly felt much looser afterwards. As well as tight glutes, the muscle running along the outside of the calf and down the ankle is very tight, especially on the right which was my most damaged ankle (short story: ankles, twice, netball, ligaments, first time right side all ruptured, second time left side most ripped) and I really felt the pain in it. The stretching was great, especially when you get that sweet pain when something really gets worked out. For me that's in my glutes, when my right foot is raised and rotated over to my left side and my right knee is bent, and I'm pulling my shins towards my chest. Dear God, that's good pain right there.
I ran a little afterwards, and had a nasty shock when I kept checking my HRM (have I waxed lyrical about that yet? I became scarily obsessed with my own heartbeat when I first got it, and was freakily elated when I saw 37 BPM when lying down and reading in bed). I ran for 15 at 8, which I thought was a good place to start after a hiatus.
At about 12 minutes my HR was 196 BMP. Now that's not right. I'm shouldn't be working hard enough running so slow for such a short time to be pushing it that hard, nor am I so desperately unfit that my heart just can't take the exercise.
My legs were fine and not at all hurting; and I was fatigued but not so badly. I had a big bad stitch and I ended the 15 by counting in ten second sections to get through it. So am I really fit - working hard - or really unfit - working so hard to do something so easy? Neither really, but I'd like to know what's going on.
From Friday to Monday I was away at a small lovely country house and far, far too busy getting massages and mud wraps, eating as much as possible and drinking my way through Central Victoria to do any exercise at all. Today was therefore the first time I've even shown my face at the gym since some time last week.
Admittedly, I had been working through some dull roaring sciatica and the break has improved the pain in my hip somewhat (ie: it now hurts just at the front instead of all along the iliac crest), but geez Louise ...
Most of my PT session tonight was taken up with some extreme stretching. Ian, as David is away, seriously worked my calf and hip and they certainly felt much looser afterwards. As well as tight glutes, the muscle running along the outside of the calf and down the ankle is very tight, especially on the right which was my most damaged ankle (short story: ankles, twice, netball, ligaments, first time right side all ruptured, second time left side most ripped) and I really felt the pain in it. The stretching was great, especially when you get that sweet pain when something really gets worked out. For me that's in my glutes, when my right foot is raised and rotated over to my left side and my right knee is bent, and I'm pulling my shins towards my chest. Dear God, that's good pain right there.
I ran a little afterwards, and had a nasty shock when I kept checking my HRM (have I waxed lyrical about that yet? I became scarily obsessed with my own heartbeat when I first got it, and was freakily elated when I saw 37 BPM when lying down and reading in bed). I ran for 15 at 8, which I thought was a good place to start after a hiatus.
At about 12 minutes my HR was 196 BMP. Now that's not right. I'm shouldn't be working hard enough running so slow for such a short time to be pushing it that hard, nor am I so desperately unfit that my heart just can't take the exercise.
My legs were fine and not at all hurting; and I was fatigued but not so badly. I had a big bad stitch and I ended the 15 by counting in ten second sections to get through it. So am I really fit - working hard - or really unfit - working so hard to do something so easy? Neither really, but I'd like to know what's going on.
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