visuals . . . august

These precious moments of yark relief are brought to you by Tropical Smoothie.

Ahhh, much better!

One of my brothers found this dandy.  Circa my radiation therapy several years ago.  As you can tell, I lost hair on my head but not on my face.  Occasionally, I try to figure which are the better times: radio-days or chemo-days.  Maybe it's the foreshortened perspective but I can't help but think I'd rather be zapped for a month than corroded for a year.

And hold.  It's called a bridge.  You can't tell but my butt is actually in the air.  Muscles are actually engaged.  Side note: shoes optional but recommended--the ball is not Velcro. 

Just getting in this position is harder than it looks.  If you look closely you can see the rush of blood to the neck and the dear-life, floor-clutch of the right hand.

"Core nice and tight, right hand out, left leg out, and hold . . . your other left leg," my therapist would have said.  Sigh for the bygone instruction.

Proverb:  When doing wrong, smile and wave.

For this exercise, one starts from a seated position and "walks" oneself to the shoulders and then "walks" back into a seated position.  One usually feels like one will die.

This is the point when one walks ones legs back toward the ball, rising the while, and finishes in a seated position.  One typically does.  Here, I proceed to continue an outward movement until I'm supine and giggling.

What we have here is a failure to inconspicuously throw-away my pills upon arrival.  In retrospect, I should have removed them from the packaging.  Lesson learned.