Stretching. Kneading. Ouching.

How many of us really do enough stretching? (according to the American College of Sports Medicine we should be doing it 5 times a week)

I don’t. It’s laughable really. I had a massage yesterday. The verdict? My legs are in a bit of a state. Pressure on my illiotibial band caused me to jump off the table. Pressure on my quads reduced me to open mouth gasps of “ow” and “oooh”. Pressure on my ankles was intensely uncomfortable. 

Why don’t I stretch moar?

It’s not difficult, it is slightly uncomfortable, it doesn’t take long. 

Ah. Right, well. It might not take long, but it takes long enough. Especially as when I come home from work I’ve got approximately 3 hours to say hello to everyone, eat food, make some food, have some quality time on the sofa, clean my teeth (“teeth cleaning time, teeth cleaning time” is a bed time favourite in our house at the moment) and all that jazz. Also, it’s slightly uncomfortable and doesn’t feel as rewarding as sitting on the sofa with a cheese sandwich or doing something more active. My yelps of pain as I apply pressure to my limbs using a foam roller bring no sympathy from Alex “I  did childbirth with two paracetamols and a bit of moaning”.

Battered legs and skinny arms aren’t the way forward. 

I intend on changing this. Maybe after I’ve watched all of Parks and Recreation.

Perhaps that should be, I’ll do my stretching while watching Parks and Recreation.

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Stretching. Kneading. Ouching.

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