It feels as if I have been in a marathon. Or perhaps been playing a hundred piece orchestra all on my own.
The past few days have not been ones of comfort. I have hardly been able to type, let alone find a comfortable position to situate myself in. My legs have been vibrating, the muscles under my skin unhappy with me for some reason I can’t name and have decided to wage war on my body.
My shoulders have been in sweet agony, my legs sore in the subtle silence of pain. I can feel the muscles move and shift and jive to a beat all their own. I picture a piece of music, ploughing through me in waves from my head to my toes. It hurts to walk, but being stubborn, I keep walking.
I had someone tell me that I should take it easy, that I shouldn’t push myself. My answer to this is to push myself further. What is pain if I can’t feel my legs because of it? What is a little ache if it goes numb?
In the past two days, I’ve had to double my concentration, to focus on not making those noises brought on by pain that I consider weakness, that I consider defeat. A co-worker asked if I was alright, if I was okay.
“I’m alright.” I said. “Just a little sore.”
She could see the pain on my face.