10/17/10

Ummm... yeah... it was a bad pop.  Oops.

Actually I can't say for certain that last night's little stretching incident was the cause.  For one reason or another though, my leg was a towering inferno of agony today.  From my hip all the way through to my toes, it felt as if the muscles and ligaments were being ripped out and lit on fire with each step that I took.  Good times.  Good times.

A couple of amusing things (other than my physical suffering) arose as I made my way through my scheduled run this afternoon.  First was the realization that, no matter how pitiful I become and no matter how readily I acknowledge as much, I'll always retain some strain of that primitive alpha male DNA.  In the comfort of my own home, I'm content to whine to you folks about how much my leg hurts and how much it's ruining my days and such.  In person though, hell to the naw.

"You okay man?"
"I'll be fine."
...
"Are you sure you're okay?  You're eyes are watering and it looks like you're gonna fall down."
"I'll be alright."
...
"Damn, why don't you sit down for a few minutes or something?"
"Only a few more pallets left.  Let's just finish 'em off.  I'll feel better once I get back in the truck."

Some form of that conversation took place at each of my stops today.  Obviously I was suffering.  Everyone could see it.  Admit weakness though?  In front of people?  Get the fuck out of here.

The second common thread struck me as quite peculiar.  As I wrapped up my first stop in Flint, the fella made some comment about my injury situation.  No worries, I assured him, tomorrow is my day off.  I'll just stay in bed all day again if I have to.  "Yeah, if your wife lets you."  No point in correcting some guy that I don't know very well, so we move along...  As I wrapped up my second stop in Mount Morris, the guy signing the paperwork said something about the beautiful weather.  Too bad about my injury, I responded, or else I'd be able to get out and play some golf.  "Yeah but your wife probably likes it better this way."  Two for two then.  Moving on...

As I finished out my third stop in Essexville, the guy in the dairy cooler told me that he once had a pinched nerve in his back.  His problem had been caused by his spine getting out of alignment and his doctor had fixed it with a series of exercises of some sort.  The doctor held his legs this way and told him to press that way and, presto change-o, everything was fine.  I was skeptical but intrigued, so I filed the knowledge away for future use.  "You can get your wife or girlfriend to help and you might not even need a doctor."  What?  Was there some sort of conference call this morning?

My three stops went a little slowly due to my hobbled pace, but I would have been done quickly enough to get to the bar and watch my Redskins on TV tonight.  Alas, I had been assigned to a second load when I got to work this morning.  I guess that's pretty much the way it goes, isn't it?  It was an easy one-stop deal to Monroe though, so good enough I guess.

Back at the dairy, after exchanging a brief chat with the security guard about how his faith was going to help heal my leg (or something), I dropped my trailer full of empty cases and then backed under my next loaded trailer.  Damn it.  I got lazy and left the trailer too high as I backed under it.  Jumped the fifth wheel.  Damn it.

After I raised the trailer high enough to clear the fifth wheel, pulled forward a few feet, lowered the trailer, and backed under it again (correctly this time), my phone rang.  The night dispatcher needed me to take a two-stop load to Lambertville and Toledo, rather than the originally planned one-stopper to Monroe.  Fantastic.  So after all of the hassle involved with hooking to my trailer, I had to set it back down and move to a different one.

After walking painfully over to the security guard and exchanging my old paperwork for the new, I proceeded with the business of hooking to my next loaded trailer and getting ready to roll.  Damn it. I got lazy and left the trailer too high as I backed under it. Jumped the fifth wheel. Damn it.  Twice in a row?

I wound up being at the dairy for damned near an hour before I finally got back on the highway.  My 'Skins were on the radio though, so at least I had some entertainment as I rolled southward.  (I use the word 'entertainment' loosely here.)  My two stops were fairly painful, as could be expected at the end of a long day, but I fought my way through them.  Not a whole lot I could do about the pronounced limp that I am sporting, but I kept my mouth shut and got my milk delivered.  Something in the DNA...

As I got back out to my truck for the ride home, I received another call from the night dispatcher.  The yard dog had gone home sick, so one of the drivers had to cover for him.  This was the reason that I had been switched to the two-stop load in the first place - to make sure that there was a quick one-stopper left for whoever would be taking a third run tonight.  Now the fabled 'third run' was mine if I wanted it.  I had heard mention of situations where a fella might end up making over $400 in one shift, but I hadn't seen it for myself yet.

Unfortunately though, at least in the monetary sense, my 14 hour clock wouldn't have lasted long enough for me to make that third trip.  I had to be done by 1:45am and I wasn't going to be back in Livonia until after midnight.  No chance that I could get to Monroe and back within an hour and a half, much less with a 12-pallet delivery thrown into the mix.  So some other dude took a third load tonight instead.  Despite my president's oft-repeated and garbled misunderstanding of the story of Cain and Abel, I am not my brother's keeper.  Therefore I don't concern myself with how those other drivers get their milk delivered within the law.  I suspect that there may be some logbook gymnastics involved but I really don't know.  Maybe someone had been scheduled originally for two really short trips or something.  In any event, my day checked in at a perfectly legal $315 and I was glad to be finished.  Finished working, at least.

I'm starting to suspect that this back injury may be some kind of Zionist plot.  You see, I really hate lifting weights.  But I'm in pain all day except when I'm lifting weights.  So did those pesky Jews conspire to get me to go to the gym by giving me a back injury?  Probably not, but it's a question worth asking.  Tonight did bring a scheduled back workout though.  Coincidence?

I drove over to the Meijer in Northville and bought a six-pack of beer in order to prepare for my workout.  No, I'm not kidding and no, this isn't some sad alcoholic story.  The only point in recent memory when my leg felt normal was while I was having a few beers on Friday night.  I was in no condition even to walk up the steps of the gym tonight, given the burning pain down the back of my leg, so I decided to try my luck with some brews.  This time they did nothing for the pain, but at least they tasted good.

My cardio warmup lasted about two minutes before I gave it up.  Just couldn't hack it.  My weight lifting was solid though, continuing a trend.  I really didn't think that working out my back would be a problem, since the injury seems to be localized somewhere at the base of my spine.  I couldn't say for sure though.  There's always a little lingering apprehension with this sort of thing.  I had no problems tonight, other than those that already existed.

Tomorrow - more bed rest, I suppose.