Later in the day, my thighs started to bother me, but that didn't faze me. It should have.
I couldn't move. I cancelled everything I had for the day and stayed in bed. My legs were killing me.
I was still in a lot of pain, but decided that it wasn't quite so bad. I felt that the best thing for my muscles, was to work out again. So I mustered up all the strength I could and went down to the lake. I felt that was the easiest walk as it is all flat. I met a friend down there and we decided to work out together. As our routine was coming to a close, I did the worst thing possible. I fell.
I had scabbed my knee, twisted my ankle, and worst of all, I had pulled my already sore thigh muscles.
I went home. I was in loads of pain. Yet all I could think about was how badly things needed to get done in my house. My daughter had no clean shirts for school. We had no clean dishes, and I had no idea what I was going to serve my kids for dinner.
I took one look at my kitchen and wanted to cry. So instead, I took a picture.
It was completely disgusting. Everything was dirty. How in the world did I let it get so bad? But I knew I couldn't work in the kitchen in the pain I was in. So I took some pain killers and went to rest for a few hours.
Believe it or not, I began to feel a little bit better. I decided that I needed to use whatever energy I had and clean up my kitchen. I did a little bit at a time. 15 minutes here, 15 minutes there. I put a load of laundry in the washing machine. I loaded and ran the dishwasher. I put up a pot of soup for dinner. And before I knew it, my kitchen looked like this:
Now granted, I didn't take a picture of the other side of my kitchen.... but as they say, "Rome wasn't built in a day". And there's always tomorrow.