“We use this stim machine to help people
who have trouble contracting their adductors.”
As the physiotherapist tapes rubberized electrodes covered in super-cooled, super-goopy gel to my inner thigh, preparatory to running a super-buzzy electric current through them and into said thigh, there is no hiding from the truth: I am one of those people who have trouble contracting their adductors. Super.
My failure is, perhaps, not surprising: I only just found out about them. It’s not just that the name is new to me: Who even knew that there were muscles on the inside of the thigh?
I do have a passing familiarity with my quads and hamstrings in the same general area, although I wouldn’t call it a strong bond. Indeed, “strong” isn’t a word that leaps to mind when I think about any of my muscles.
It seems so unfair. It isn’t as if I’m, you know, inactive.
Of course, in southern Ontario our kayaking season is short.
“I know it’s time to stop for the season when I fall out,
and the water is so cold that I throw up.”
– Overheard in a kayaking shop
Me, I stop just short of that point — OK, maybe well short — which means I must go kayaking, oh, about 10 times in a season. OK, maybe in a good season.
But wait! There’s more! Every winter I go for a few hikes in the Sonoran Desert.
And every day, winter or non-winter, I try to get to 10,000 steps: Some days I even succeed.
Yet, somehow, all this undeniable activity has been insufficient to offset the hours I spend sitting at a computer, what with work, blogging, and generally messing about. Or, for that matter, the evening hours in front of the TV, doing crossword puzzles and generally messing about.
But my poor adductor performance isn’t my fault: I’m pretty sure they’ve been abducted.
“Officer, put out an all-points bulletin.”
“What’s that? You need full names to issue a missing-muscle report? Well, I’m pretty sure the whole famdamily is gone: Brevis, Longus, and Magnus Adductor. Minimus usually hangs out with Magnus, so I suppose he’s gone, too.”
It can’t possibly be that my brain doesn’t know where they are, having never really had to, you know, talk to them before.