I currently have a tissue stuffed down the front of my pants to protect my poor sunburned stomach from the scathingly scratchy waistband of my burlap dress pants. The pants may look like cotton and nylon, but I can assure you that they are definitely made of burlap. Or possibly bailing twine. Normally, I would not have had time to get properly sunburned without a trip to the beach or some such excuse to lay around and completely ignore sunscreen, but after recovering from being deathly ill all winter, I’ve managed to manufacture new reasons to lay around by the pool and be a lazy bum.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to liven up the wod at Crossfit by falling off a 20-inch box with a 95lb barbell on top of me. These tactics met with smashing success in the attention whoring department because every person in the gym had to stop working out so they could come over and see whether I had broken my neck. It transpired that I had not (also a great success), and that I was now permitted to complain at least eight times as much as usual because my neck hurt, and my back hurt, and my ankle hurt. Sadly, I had to chill out on the self pity when Coach broke his ankle three days later and couldn’t compete in Regionals that weekend.
Well, I just stopped complaining to Coach, actually. Everyone else was still fair game.
My neck and ankle are pretty much back to normal, but my back still feels like somebody took a sledge hammer (or a 95lb barbell) to it whenever I try to lift any real weights. Since I’m exercising about half as much as usual but refuse to stop eating like a house, I’ve decided my best tactic is definitely to just cover up the resulting pudge with a beautiful tan. Or a scalding sunburn that will shortly turn into a beautiful tan . . . if I put enough aloe on it. The tissue in my pants will be worth it in the end. At least I was actually IN the sun when I got burned. Kate was at the pool this weekend too, but she sat her red-haired self in the shade and fretted about whether or not she was wearing enough spf 50. 50!?! I was wearing spf 8 that I had stolen from Roomie and feeling proud of myself for it. Based on this test group, I’m willing to guess that one’s IQ has some sort of direct correlation with the number on the sunscreen one chooses to wear. I don’t care. I WILL be golden brown.
P.S. Don’t worry, I’ve made an appointment to see a doctor about my back this week. My track record of having problems that doctors can actually fix is not good, but I have not given up hope that there is some sort of quick fix for this. Random thought! Do you think they call a doctor’s customers patients because you must be patient for medicine to work? If so, I’m a lousy customer.