The human body is an interesting, well-designed machine overall. But for me, its Achilles heel isn’t a heel at all: It’s a wrist.
During the past several weeks as I’ve schlepped bricks all over the place, hefted 50-pound bags of gravel and 60- and sometimes 80-pound bags of cement, and shuttled hundreds of gallons of dirt around, this design flaw has become painfully clear. I’m afraid that if it’s possible for a woman to be a “limp-wristed wimp” I am one.
My wrists are small. They weren’t cut out for this kind of thing. I was hoping that such regular activity might strengthen them up a bit. (Maybe it has or it might hurt even worse! There’s a pleasant thought.) And I try to be judicious about how I use them since quitting isn’t an option at this point.
One life-saver has been my little cart. I shudder to think how much agony it has spared me. The fact that I’ve already broken both wrists in my lifetime (one of them, the left, has been broken twice, once in two places) can’t be helping my case any either. Maybe this is arthritis?
What’s funny is that people keep asking about my back. My back, for the most part, is fine. My knees are really taking a beating which tells me that I am, perhaps, following the old “Lift with your legs, not with your back” line to a T. My hands and fingers are often sore, but hey, that happens. My wrists? Sometimes there aren’t adjectives adequate to describe how they hurt.
About three times in the past week, I’ve reached for something, picked something up, or else put my hand down for balance and it has been BLAM! Like seeing stars kind of pain. It only lasts for a short time, lessens, but continues to ache. I’ve tried several OTC remedies including Activ-On, Flexall 454, and Ben-Gay. They all work to some degree, but never for very long.
OK, athletes and athletic DIYers – tell me YOUR best remedy. I’m all ears.