I seem to think that I have the body of a 15 year old - and not in an awkward pimply freshman sort of way, but more so in that with moving, I believe I'll be able to lift hoards of boxes and heavy objects with ease and not be affected. By the end of moving time, I also started getting this spring in my step, reminiscent of the work crew days, where we'd move a crate full of bananas, and then sprint on up the ramp like it was no big deal. So here I am, three days after moving feeling like the girl from 16 candles who wears a neck brace and can't really have a face to face conversation without turning my entire body towards the whole person. I'm kind of R2D2-esque, really.
So, ibuprofen, heating pads, massage therapy, you are my best friend!
And I ... am getting old.