It’s Sunday. No alarms, no where to be. It’s just a nice relaxing Sunday. Except one thing. I feel like I was run over by a truck when I wake up. Every muscle in my body, including all those little secret ones that I’m always surprised about when I realize I have them, is completely wrenched. My neck hurts, my shoulders hurt, my back hurts, my hips hurt, my legs hurt, and, yes, every cotton pickin’ toe hurts. Even my ears feel strained.
When I get out of bed, I walk like a cowboy after a month on the trail. It’s like my knees won’t bend and I have to rock my weight back and forth from foot to foot, swinging my legs from my hip to move forward. This is what running down a hill with a glider on my back does to me. Who knew it was such hard work?
I get the coffee going and then, while I wait for it to brew, I do some yoga. I end up doing a lot of yoga, trying out virtually every restorative pose I can remember, trying to ease my body back into movement. By the time I have spent an hour doing these gently relaxing poses, I am able to walk back to the coffee maker looking a little more like I have the joints of a human being than the joints of a barbie.
I take my cup of coffee back to the couch, but instead of sitting there, I choose my office chair instead. I have a remarkable office chair. For my entire career, I’ve had a bad habit of slouching down into my chair and resting my head on the back of the chair. Given that I am tall, this requires scootching my rear end all the way to the front edge of my seat and then stretching out my legs to plant my position so I don’t drop off the edge and fall onto the floor. From behind, people think I’m sleeping.
In any case, this posture has always left me with back pain and I could never figure out why I always slip into that position when I’m not paying attention. Well, when I bought my own office chair, I figured out why. It’s because my neck hurts. All these years, what I really needed was a neck rest on my chair! Now that I have said neck rest, it gives me a place to perch my head while I’m sitting straight up. My office chair has eased my neck pain on more than one occasion, so I give it a try again today to see if putting the weight of my head on the rest and pushing back gently against it to stretch my neck helps.
While I do this, I work on processing photos. I might as well do something productive while I’m sitting there. Pat got up before me and is already on the couch nursing his sore muscles. Although, he is in far better shape today than I am. He stopped flying early because he wanted to protect himself from pulling his hamstring again, having just recovered from the last time. So, he did half as many flights and launched on all of them, meaning he didn’t run all the way down the hill like those of us struggling to launch did.
I resent this about him.
After having plenty of time to relax and ease ourselves into our morning in our own ways, we decide we should ride to the market today. While I hurt, I haven’t actually pulled or torn anything, I’m just sore. And riding a bike gently and a short distance is a great way to get blood flowing to sore muscles and ease some of the pain. I’m totally up for that.
We make our way across the Walnut St bridge cautiously–the crowd for the Head of the Hootch is back again today, although somewhat thinner now. We are prepared to walk our bikes if the crowd gets too thick, but we make it across still in the saddle by riding slowly and watching out for darting pedestrians. Fortunately, there aren’t any races going under the bridge as we cross, so the darting is minimal.
At the market, we stop to talk to Lou and Eddie, the honey and candle makers we’ve met at the market several times now. Pat has a printout of some info about a trumpet Eddie wants to sell. He goes through what he found with him and gives him the bad news that his trumpet is not likely to sell for a lot of money.
We move on to find lunch. We didn’t realize how late it was getting when we left for the market and after our little ride there, we’re suddenly ravenous. We find a hot dog stand in the back corner of the market. It’s called Good Dog, which is a restaurant located about half a block from our apartment. We’ve eaten there once and they serve the same mustard used in the Cleveland Indians stadium.
We each order a couple of dogs and while they cook, I get into a conversation with the owner. They are from Akron, Ohio and the owner used to go to watch the Cleveland Indians with her grandparents. She saw an article about how the mustard on the hot dogs there was part of what kept the Indians fans coming to the stadium even when the Indians had one of the worst records in baseball. So, when they decided to open a restaurant that serves hot dogs, they decided to serve that mustard.
When our dogs are ready, we say our good-byes after getting directions on where to buy beer. We didn’t realize they always sell beer at the market, not just during Oktoberfest, but there are only a couple of vendors rather than a bunch. As we make our way towards the beer, we pause to take a bite of our dogs. My teeth pierce the skin of the dog and juice squirts out a good 3 feet. I laugh. As I chew my mouthful, I’m impressed. “Good dog!” I say.
We drink our beers and finish our dogs slowly, wandering around and checking out the vendors who are there today. Some of the same photographers are there, including one that prints the photos on fabric so they look like a photo-painting. I do not like this look. As Pat says, “It should be on black velvet.”
We visit the produce vendors next and pick up some watercress, radishes, tarragon, and lettuce. We’ve decided we’ll make my favorite salad with the first three ingredients, although we will have to supplement with a few items from the grocery store.
Having eaten, wandered, and purchased everything we could use, we decide to head on home. The crowd on the Walnut St Bridge has grown slightly, but we’re still able to make it safely through without walking our bikes. We get home, unload our groceries, and collapse on the couch. Having loosened some of the kinks out of my body, I’m now completely ready for an afternoon nap. Ahh. It’s the life of a good dog.