I can’t sit up for more than an hour without feeling like there’s a 10 pound burning weight on my chest and back. A pop into physical therapy in lieu of my doctors state-adjacent absence a few days ago on Friday proved to be not the best choice. Ed Scale’s witch-doctor healing powers are rivaled by none, and the electrode strips placed on my chest and back by someone different seemed to have set me back a week rather than doing their supposed job of stimulating healing in the muscles.
So the ocean experience of today was more geared toward surf-vival, and catching a wave was a complex puzzle of timing, weight placement, and sheer nuts motivation. I felt lifeless in the water, and possibly looked like a drowning victim. The next few days will be focused on deciding on whether or not I can continue to do this to myself.
