After six weeks of packing and moving, Amy and I spend most mornings soaking in a hot shower and rubbing each other down with Ben Gay. I doubt either of us has a muscle that doesn’t ache.
No matter how much you work out, moving finds muscles that aren’t in shape and applies a sadistic amount of pain. Add to that skinned knuckes, bruises from bumping into things and too many items dropped on too many feet and toes and we greet each day with aches, pains, moans and gripes.
Instead of “good morning,” the first greeting of the morning is “damn that hurts.”