I'm tired of my ass hurting. I pulled a glute in yoga, of all things, about a million years ago and ever since, ass-pain has stopped me from running, playing Frisbee, taking up kick-boxing again and, of course, yoga.

My friends and family have been as supportive as you'd expect - from suggesting curatives, like "manning up" or "spreading a little vagisil on it", to suggesting I try other exercises, like knitting, while I recuperate.

The worst part, honestly, is not the derision - because that's awesome. It's not even the realization that I've crested some feature of senescence's landscape, the downhill side of which requires me to stretch before goddamn yoga. That's only a couple of skips ahead of time's winged chariot away from walking to get warmed up before a jog. Christ. No, the worst part is being sedentary for so long. I've always hated exercise, but that's about what I can manage now. I can't do sports, because they're too free-form. If I can pull my left ass in yoga, basketball could easily cause me to poop a lung or sprain a prolapsed lymph node. So, I do nothing and hope my ass gets better. 

The best part, incidentally, is the physical therapy. Yes, I'm going to PT for a pulled whatsit. In my youth I could have walked this off in a day, probably on my hands. Now a strong gentleman assaults my bits with ice, heat, ultrasound, electricity, and on one memorable occasion, mallets. The very good news, however, is that a much more valiant injury I sustained years ago during a kickboxing class when my instructor decided it would be a good time to help me stretch, is now on the mend. Years after being treated like a wishbone and losing 90% of my flexibility, PT has helped me regain most of that. The irony is that if I'd just gone to PT in the first place instead of trying to restore my flexibility through yoga, I would never have hurt myself.

Me, in karate class

Hardy har har. Life is stupid.