Once a year, every year, I hurt my back. I take my off the ball and my physical therapy, I hunch over my computer and I slump in chairs and on planes and I cross my legs while sitting, all extremely dangerous activities when you’re 43 with a bulging disc and the posture of a girl who was the tallest in her class in middle school. I email my physical therapist in a panic, she’s booked up but can get me in next week. I hire a stranger to come to my office at lunch for a deep tissue massage, I strip down to my underwear and can hear co-workers through my door. At work, I require a new chair, a butt pillow, a back pillow, a foot box, even though sitting on any of things actually makes it worse. I wander around outside like an old baby, because movement helps, it hurts less than sitting, or standing. I try and remember when this happened last. The only way to know is to google bekah brunstetter back pain because sometimes it’s only my blog that reminds who and where I am. I find out it was exactly one year ago I last hurt it, and this gives me some comfort, because I know that if nothing else, I am consistent, and it will pass, and before I know it, I will be Next Year, googling my own body.