This weekend did not go at all according to plan. I woke up at my usual early hour on Saturday, full of plans for the day. After some breakfast and coffee, I worked on producing a web version of my latest movie while listening to a soccer broadcast online from my home town in North East England. Once the game was over (we won), I drove over to the Marina to go running. It was a cool and foggy morning; I could hear the fog horns blasting out from distant points in the Bay, and there was the smell of seaweed in the air, even several blocks from the waterside. It gave me a feeling of nostalgia, sort of subtle reminder of other half-remembered times.

I found myself to be in an unusually good mood, as I jogged along, feeling a definite joie-de-vivre which had been otherwise so much lacking of late. I started to think about what it would be like to wake up feeling so good every day - that would be a powerful way to live. I started to make mental notes for a journal entry later that day, and even a new idea for a short movie, about how others experience joie-de-vivre.

Later, I revved up my energies to go to the gym. It had been a struggle all week to make it to the gym, because I'd been unusually tired this week, even by my already low expectations. While driving to the gym, I listened to a compilation of Kate Bush singles which I haven't listened to in years. I sang along to one of my all time favorite songs, "Wuthering Heights". No doubt listening to someone sing along to that particular song, with its swooping high pitches, is one of the most painful sonic sensations.

It was while doing my third set of squats, with heavy weights, that I suddenly felt something give way in my lower back. For a second, I panicked; I was at the bottom of the stroke, and didn't know if I could straighten up to return the weights to the rack. I knew that if I didn't I'd likely seriously hurt myself, so I focussed and pushed the weights back up. Gingerly, I tried to walk; uh oh, a lot of pain. I wasn't sure what I'd done to myself, but it hurt.

Somehow, I made it home. The funniest part was getting into my car; I managed it after a good bit of squirming around, but once seated, I couldn't lean sideways far enough to close the door after me. Somebody was already behind me, waiting to pull into my parking spot, and I tried to make meaningful hand gestures to ask for help in closing my door. But they must have thought I was a crazy person, and took off. I managed to loop my finger around the door handle and pull the door closed.

Over the next few hours things got worse and worse as my back seized up, despite the constant on-off application of an ice pack and prescription-strength ibuprofen. It was agony every time I got up from a lying position. When I tried to make myself something to eat for dinner, I almost passed out. I was pretty scared, and began to worry that I'd hurt myself more than I first thought. I tried to call Brett, but his line was busy all evening long. So I decided to hold tight and hope that I felt a little better in the morning. I went to bed and couldn't even turn the light off, so slept fitfully, on my back in the light.

By Sunday morning, it was, perhaps, just a little less painful, although just as impossible to bend at the waist. Brett came over from Berkeley and went shopping for me, bless his heart, and I spent the whole day watching television. I was still, strangely enough, in a great mood, and found myself enjoying my enforced rest, and finding meaningful moments in the worst dross on TV - even in old science fiction movies like "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea" Sitting through three episodes of the "Antiques Road Show" was a bit much, but I did discover a jewel of a show I'd never watched before; "100 Center Street" on A&E.

Jeez, is it Wednesday already? Monday and Tuesday were much like Sunday - all day television marathons interspersed with naps and books. I'm reading an absorbing new biography of Churchill by Roy Jenkins. When I started it, only a few days ago, I thought that it would take me weeks to read such a large book. It used to be that I would fly through books. But, in recent years, I've found that I frequently fall asleep at bedtime, after only a few pages. Not so with Churchill; maybe it's the afternoon naps, but I've been reading until the wee hours every night, and I'm already past page 400. Mind, that's still only about half way. He had a very long career.

I started working again today, at least half way. I still can't sit in a chair for more than five minutes, but I can work lying down on my couch, with my laptop. My back is still stiff, but no longer really painful, and I imagine I'll be back fully at work by Monday, although I'll stay away from the gym for a couple of weeks, I think. The biggest downside of all this has been that I had to cancel my trip to New Orleans. I was due to leave on Saturday.

Thu, Jan 10, 2002, 7:52 AM

Brett had been nagging me all week to talk to my doctor, so finally, yesterday afternoon, I called him and asked for his advice in making sure I was doing the right things. He referred me to a chiropractor not far from my apartment, with whom I managed to get an appointment late yesterday afternoon. It was odd to walk into the doctor's office and have both the receptionist and the doctor herself standing there to greet me. I'm used to brusqueness from medical professionals, not the kind of cooky friendliness I received here. Throughout the treatment, she'd ask me questions about myself, and I'd make some kind of wise crack. "You're so funny," she'd say.

The bad news is that it she told me I should not exercise for six weeks! That's only just beginning to sink in. This will be the longest break from exercise of my adult life. I can't imagine what shape my body will be in after six weeks of indolence. I have to go back again today for another "adjustment" and she advised me to continue working from home for at least the rest of the week.

I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself. After all, in the scheme of things, this injury is absolutely nothing. And, have I learned anything through all this? Nothing profound. I'm afraid I've been in such a light-hearted mood, that I haven't done any deep thinking. Maybe I won't do squats any more at the gym. Maybe I'm not a young thing any more?