It was in the summer of 1991 when good ole Roger Murtaugh shouted, "I hurt my back lifting weights this morning! I hurt my back LIFTING WEIGHTS!" I remember sitting in our local movie theater watching Lethal Weapon 3 and laughing my butt off. Lifting weights my foot. He was wearing a 'man's girdle' to keep his big fat stomach in.
Well, I wish I could say the same and get away with it, too. Not that I'm wearing a man's girdle as I type this. Or a woman's girdle for that matter. But I did hurt my back, and I wasn't lifting weights trying to impress Miss Arizona. That, at least, would've been something. No, three days ago I hurt my back lifting a frigging washing machine. A washing machine. Day 1: ouch. Day 2: no pain whatsoever. Day 3: Blue guy is trying to take off his socks and that ouch felt on day 1 multiplied tenfold. Better make that twenty.
The pain was excruciating. It was unbearable. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the lower back with a blunt sword. I screamed out loud and fell on my knees almost hitting my head again the edge of our bathtub. Aaaahhhhhhhhhh! Tears rolled down my cheeks and I didn't know what to do. I thought I'd forgotten how to cry. Guess who was wrong once again. Luckily my phone was within reach so I could call for help.
To cut a long story short, I damaged my lower back and I'm trying my best not to make it worse. Time will tell if it's permanent. All I know is that I feel old walking like a fragile geriatric who thought he was in his early twenties. Sure, there was a time when I could bench press 198 pounds, but those days are over and I'd better believe it. Fifty is not the new forty. Neither is 49.
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