That’d make a good band name – Chad Dammit.
I was telling Chad in stretch class today that I’d had occasion to curse him, which wasn’t very nice in the abstract, but Chad thrives on the groans of his stretch class students and he just grinned with joy.
(Chad is a trainer at Body Dynamics in Falls Church, VA. He teaches stretch class to a handful of people who have opted to not lock up tight as we age. Chad teaches with foam rollers and tennis balls and cloth straps and the fiendishness of his vampire nature, where the moans of agony from his class nourish him at the cellular level; this is his personal Fountain of Youth.)
It was Grace’s fault that I cursed Chad. Grace, also a trainer (and don’t they conspire with each other when I’m not looking? They do.) has me doing a stretch for my thorax every day.
Thorax, thorax, thorax. What a great word.
I lie across the foam roller (which, despite its name, is as hard as a rock) so the roller is just barely under my wing bones. Cross my hands behind my head. Knees bent, to make sure the stretch gets the mid-back and isn’t absorbed by my far-more-limber lumbar spine. Then breathe. Inhale-exhale (in case you forgot how to breathe) five times slowly… and THEN…
Roll one elbow down, knees follow, until you’re all the way on your side. Go slowly; cherish every single gasp of ouchiness. Then roll to the other side (reaching your elbow back and up as you go; otherwise you end up sliding further and further down until the foam roller is under your neck.) Repeat four times.
I’m getting pretty good at this; I think my thorax might be beginning to unfreeze. (I think of it as The Thing, trapped in arctic ice and just waiting for handsome, bearded men to stumble upon it accidentally so it can feed once more.) (All this in my mid-back?? I may be watching too many movies.)
But last night while doing my HEP (that’s Home Exercise Program to you), the rolling from side to side was simply EXCRUCIATING – and instead of cursing Grace, whose bright idea this was in the first place, I illogically equated groans of agony on the roller with Chad.
So I was cursing him – and uttered “Chad Dammit.”
So now I’m changing his street name from “Shoulders Down” to “Chad Dammit.” He doesn’t seem to mind at all.
Foam rollers. Look so simple and innocent, don’t they?