Cramps and Curses

It’s the middle of the night and the dog is sitting on my head. This is his routine, his cue that he needs outside. I move to get out of bed and am met with instant aches and pains. Ah yes, the aftermath of working out. I have not missed you one bit.

My knees creak as I stand up and my back spasms, nearly putting me on the floor. The dog gives an impatient whine and I glare at him. My feet hurt. I hobble to the stairs and look down. This is going to suck. I take them one at a time because my thigh muscles feel like they’re going to give out. Goddamn burpees.

I get downstairs and put the dog out. I go into the washroom to pee and that’s when it happens. I get a massive calf cramp that lifts me two feet off the toilet. I writhe in pain and stifle the screams. I don’t want to wake anyone up and I don’t want to be discovered like this. I move my leg back and forth trying to loosen the cramp.

I can hear the dog scratching at the sliding door. I need to let him in before he starts barking. I struggle to balance on one leg as I pull up my underwear and scramble to the door. Milo hops back in and I’m resentful that he makes moving look so easy. I rub at my calf, pleading with it to stop being such an asshole. I gingerly walk around the kitchen while the dog sits there with a puzzled look on his face. I look like a newborn giraffe trying to use it’s new legs, flopping around. I’m gasping and twisting around trying not to make any noise.

Finally, the pain starts to ebb, and I can catch my breath. I almost feel lightheaded. I grumble and curse and vow never to do burpees again as they are surely the culprit here and not my out of shape body. I grab a couple of kibbles for the dog and start to make my way upstairs.

I shit you not, that’s when the other calf decides to cramp up. I fall to my knees and I’m pretty sure I’ve busted a kneecap. I yell out a good F-you to the universe and I’m pretty sure I’ve woken up Darren. Instead all I hear from the bedroom is soft snoring. It’s good to know that I could be laying here dying and he’s getting the best sleep of his life. I sit on the stairs and rub at my leg, bouncing up a down with the pain. I contemplate just rolling down the stairs to my death because that would be better than this.

It takes a few minutes, but my leg is finally useable and I limp up to the bedroom. I gingerly crawl into bed and realize that I should have taken some Tylenol when I was downstairs, an attempt to appease my angry muscles because I know how stiff I’m going to be in the morning. But the Tylenol is in the kitchen and I’ve gone to far. I moan a bit as I try to get comfortable. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to slide out of bed in the morning.

I’m angry with myself for letting my body get to this point and I lay there fuming for a good twenty minutes before drifting off to sleep. Maybe tomorrow we work on arms instead of legs…

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