Well, I started therapy in the warm water pool. I walk back and forth for 15 minutes. Whoop, right?
So I do it. Loyally. Good little Robo-Patient.
Then a week ago my supposedly adoring hubby says I should buy "fat pants" b/c my waistline's gotten "so big". (After nearly 8 months inactive, mind.)
Then the nurse prac at the rehab doc says "You'll need a year at least to work off that flab of yours".
And THEN at the pool locker room, this female triathlete (literally, a triathlete) says to me, "I'd never be that out of shape at your age." (She's probably my age, by the way, but because I don't tan, I often am mistaken for younger. So that was a backhanded insulting compliment.)
So I said, "The bones in my pelvis were disarticulated in a fall, and the resulting damage to my ligaments, tendons and muscles prevented them from returning to their proper place. I lived with that for almost 5 months and now it's taken 3 months for me to get well enough to move around."
Said Miz Fitness 2012, "What's your point?"
I said, "I hope karma's not as big a ***** to you as you've just been to me."
She almost didn't reply... then caught up to me after I'd limped away to say very nastily, "If you'd been in good shape to start, you wouldn't have gotten hurt!"
Folks, you should've seen how fast I told her, "Till this happened I worked out an hour a day, I'd walk 5 miles a day without losing my breath, and every damn doctor will tell you I was in good shape. All it takes is one bad day, honey. ONE."
Then I limped my way to the therapy pool, all het up and seething. Miz Fit charged toward the lap pool, every muscle rippling and vein bulging.... and she slipped and fell smack on her fat-free tight-muscled a**!
THERE IS A GOD! And SHE IS ON OUR SIDE!