Well, that’s what I get for being self-satisfied with existence…

Woke up this morning, got out of bed, went “Hgaark!” and leaned against the wall. Hmm. Who would have thought that breaking up my incredibly sedentary existence with a two hour hike, punctuated by frequently crouching for long periods on hot gravel, would cause my thigh muscles to ache? I mean, my back was twinging a little yesterday, but this..woof. Feels like my legs are getting root canals. It’s my own stupid fault for A) being woefully out of shape, and B) doing the Photography Zen thing, where I forget that hey, yeah, I’m in a hideously uncomfortable position, because lookit that cactus! Must get a photo! Even if I have to stand on one leg in a cholla patch! I’m an idiot.

So, needless to say, I’m doing the stiff-legged I-am-too-proud-to-limp hobble, attempting to walk without having the big mass of muscle on the front of the thigh–I think it might be the quadraceps, can draw it, but can’t remember the name–actually come into play. Unfortunately, I live at the top of a lengthy flight of stairs, so going out to pick up coffee and hashbrowns this morning made me go “HGARRK!” again, punctuated by quiet “fuckfuckfuckunnnghh” noises.

Fortunately, as with most such aches, as long as the muscle’s not in the act of moving, it doesn’t actually hurt. (Sort’ve like getting a tattoo–when the needle stops moving, it stops hurting.) So I can paint without much qualm. Which is good. Because somewhere, there’s a watercolor calling my name…