First, I worked on my computer all day. After a suitable period of time after which my eyes threatened to fall out of my head if I stared at the computer for one more minute, I arose from the couch which had held me captive for hours on end while I chased a conference paper deadline.
Next, I thought nothing of picking up a rather light office chair to move it out of my way in search of something in my desk. Surely, it weighed less than ten pounds. The risk of injury must have been annoyingly close to zero.
Then, as I lifted that innocent, guileless office chair from its spot on the floor, I felt the first muscle in my lower back start to tear. Then, the next. Then, a few more. The pain settled in like a bomb, neurons firing in a loud, brash symphony which was only a preview of the nine days to follow.
As I struggled with the simplest of movements for day after day after day, I tried everything to push my back away from the pain and toward a more healthy place.
Heat. Stretch. Ice, Swim. Walk. Rest. And so on and so forth.
Exasperated, on the ninth day, I went for a walk. Alongside the water's edge, my eleven month old puppy Lady bounded into the ocean, completely oblivious to the fact that she was still attached to my hand, arm, and shoulder by a leash. In her enthusiasm, she took me with her along an obstacle course of moving rocks, barnacles, and the like. I tipped, twisted, and went helter skelter trying to reset my balance. My back doth protested. Then, after another twist, it doth protest again.
After yet another protest from my tender and still injured lower back, the muscles, nerves, and tissue magically moved back to their correct and original spots, into a land where the pain ceased and the shooting pains haunted me no more. Thereby, after days of trying any and all remedies for my stubborn and screeching lower back, I found the remedy:
My Lady is a chiropractor. Unbeknownst to her of course.
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