I have been going to physical therapy as of late, and whoa, it's no walk in the park (which isn't really fun yet either). It makes me feel like such a whimp... well, not me per say, all name calling is designated to the whimpyness of a few pesky joints. But I guess it's not their poor little fault either, they were attacked... *dramatic pause*... by some rouge immunity cells. But then again the immunity cells didn't mean any harm by it either, they were just doing their job, defending their honor etc, albeit with mixed up instructions about their target. And who mixed up their instructions? Who knows! And beyond that it just gets too complicated to track down a culprit, so for the sake of simplicity I am declaring all parties absolved of guilt, and shall heretofore not be held liable for damages nor be referred to as whimps though I reserve the right to wrinkle my nose at them on occasion. I have spoken.

Gosh I'm so easily distracted, back to physical therapy. Well, the nice physical therapist kept demonstrating seemingly simple exercises.

Step onto the block, step off of the block.

Lean on the wall, roll back onto your heels, lifting your toes as high as you can.

Stand on the board, tip toes forward, then heels back, then side to side.

10 wrist curls with the rubber band.

Stand on one foot for 30 seconds, holding a bar for balance. Switch.

I am totally capable of doing all of those very simple things with ease, theoretically. I was not prepared to break a sweat, or to be pep talking my ankles. "Left ankle, you are a rockstar! Right ankle, you are a redheaded step child."

Wow, in retrospect, that sounds so mean to my right ankle... okay, I'm going to go try and sweet talk my ankle now.