If I were a horse, they would shoot me.

After a weekend of what felt like hard labour mixed with a dash of death march, my body is thoroughly destroyed.

Every excursion up or down the stairs is preceded by a debate weighing the pros and cons, ie "How badly do I really have to pee?"

I've spent the day going to physio, napping* and living attached to no less than three ice packs.

*Trailer trash bingo was AWESOME. Crass, but and awesome. I couldn't tear myself away, even for much needed sleep.

Also, I'm fairly certain my knee can now gauge the weather. This must be what being old feels like.