I got my first bill for physical therapy. I was spending fifty bucks a visit -- just for my co-pay. Three times a week. That's a car payment! And my husband's company was picking up the tab for the rest -- another 200 bucks per visit. That's a salary!
And I wasn't even getting any better.
"This is me," I realized. "I'm a big, broken, lump and I'm going to get bigger and bigger until I crush the couch I'm living on."
Ah, well. At least there's TV. And the Internet. And my loving children. And my sweet daughters-in-law, one of whom regularly emails me links to cool things she finds online. Like LivingSocial.
So there I was, minding my own business, when a LivingSocial link pops up to a cheap -- stupidly cheap! -- gym membership.
Ten bucks. Ten bucks? For six weeks! And four personal training sessions. Ten bucks!
Now I've joined a couple of gyms before. Never went back. But I did join.
Ten bucks? That's less than gasoline to physical therapy and back.
I wonder...I mused...whether a personal trainer might be able to help where the physical therapist didn't. My therapist seemed almost bored during my sessions. She took phone calls. Set me on a device and walked away for ten minutes to do paperwork. At 250 bucks an hour, I was getting about six minutes of personal interaction. How much worse could the personal trainer be?
I clicked the button and bought a ten-dollar membership.