I Swear I’m Not An Old Pervert, Honest
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Last June, the muscles in my neck and shoulder next to my spine were driving me crazy. I don’t mind staying up late at night, but not when pain is involved. I planned to grit my teeth and take handfuls of ibuprofen until it passed but I found myself hesitating to turn my head when I was on my bike.
Now, my basic philosophy about riding is to stay alive. Not turning my head was incompatible with this philosophy. And being dead would cut into my recreational pursuits.
So I tried massage.
Don’t laugh.
There was nothing fun about it.The first few sessions were a contest of my will not to scream. My massage therapist was incredulous, “What did you do to yourself?” I told him if I went into that we’d be there for the rest of the afternoon.
But it’s helped. Yesterday he said to me, “See, I did not hurt you today. Your neck is better.”
So here are the facts. It’s not fun. It has nothing to do with sex. It takes time, one session won’t cure you. But I’ve regained the flexibility in my neck, my shoulders don’t hurt and I’ll probably manage to keep myself alive at least a few more months on the bike.
The only bad thing? My massage therapist’s final words to me: “Next time I work on your hip.” Oh Lord.
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