The Tennis Ball… An Orb of Mean

The new symbol of evil at my house is the tennis ball. It is a fuzzy neon yellow sphere of pain. I try to not look at it head on. Even when I catch just a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, I whimper softly.

tennis ball02 700x466 The Tennis Ball... An Orb of Mean

the new evil

Because I like to think of myself as rather fearless, or, at least enough of a grown up to fake it, my irrational fear of tennis balls does not make sense; however, I blame it all on Dr. Dave, AKA Dr. Hot Poker Hands. Dr. HPH is a physical therapist whose main thrill is making (slightly difficult) patients cry helping patients heal.

As those who know me will attest, I am rather “tightly wound”.  Phrases like “go with the flow” do not come to mind when friends describe me.  I, on the other hand, prefer to use adjectives like “motivated” and “driven” when I describe myself. Perhaps this is a misconception?

julia balloons The Tennis Ball... An Orb of Mean

The Face of Inflexibility

In Julia’s Math, I consider the “going with the flow” to be a personal challenge, an invitation to rise to the occasion. It is my personal responsibility to set the pace and trajectory that the Flow travels on. I like to think I manage the Flow like a boss. The flow is a project, and I am Project Manager.

Unfortunately, my mastery (or lack thereof) of the Flow has left the cerebral and entered the physical…My rigidity has literally seeped into my very self, the fibers of my being – namely my muscles.

I have knots in my shoulders that make my chiropractor weep. I have had hamstrings so tight that the muscle felt like a series of corded ropes instead of being soft and supple. My hamstrings have ruined more than one massage for me. More than once, the masseuse has taken to mumbling (LOUDLY) about the state of my hamstrings, drowning out the relaxing, new-age drippy raindrops music. Anytime I leave a massage, chiropractor, or physical therapy (it takes a village, people) and no one shakes their head in disbelief, mumbles curses, and/or repeatedly asks me if I am aware of how tight I was, I am able to put a check mark in the Life’s Small Victories (or should I say #WINNING?) column.