Aftermath.

It's official, I'm sorry to say.

I rocked too hard.

It's something you joke about, but not something that's actually supposed to HAPPEN. Just like the aches, pains and cracks that feel as if they suddenly arrived upon the day I turned 24. I joked with my friends (all of whom turned 24 before my late-born-in-November ass) about it all going downhill once one hit the big 2-4, but it turns out karma got the last laugh.

Truth be told, it's not just that I rocked too hard during the crazy Paradise dancefest Saturday night. It's more that I pilated, rocked and bowled too hard this weekend. Take all three components and look at them individually - no problem. Add them together into one weekend and I'm walking around with aching muscles two days after the fact.

Wuss? Me? Yeah, it looks that way. But I blame the gym, the band and Tom's enthusiasm about candlepin in Davis Square.

And I still maintain that the pain's worth it. I loved the pilates (admittedly it was a love/hate affair throughout the class). I unleashed my inner dancing fool at the concert. And I bowled the games of my life on Sunday (unfortunately, however, my brother got past being amazed by my ferocity and bowled the games of HIS life. Which means I lost the epic battle 2-1. Bring on the rematch).

But it needs be said.

OWWWWWW.