Last Monday, I got to physical therapy just as the Boston Marathon bombing story hit the airwaves.
I know, because the super-sized flat screen TV against the 5th Avenue wall of the therapy studio was on, bringing us the story live from Copley Square, in all its drama and chaos.
Between my massage, my recuperative exercises and heat therapy, I learned the facts -- one, no, two explosions took place at the finish line, people were injured, no idea how many, white smoke, an elderly runner was filmed falling down as he ran, footage of people running past the site of the bombing, confused and scared.
By the time I left, two fatalities were confirmed. Authorities were in a complete fog about the perpetrators.
On Friday, I arrived for my morning appointment to learn that one of the now-identified suspects -- brothers from Chechnya!! -- was dead, the other on the loose and the city of Boston on lockdown. At the end of the week, three were dead, with nearly two hundred wounded, many with lost limbs.
At yesterday's appointment, I watched legal experts discuss the possible progress and outcome of a trial for surviving Boston Bomber Dzohkhar Tsarnaev.
I also learned that officials had uncovered an Al Qaeda plot to blow up a passenger train from Canada to the United States.
As I work to strengthen my core and build up the muscles of my back to support my curving spine, I wonder if my hard and focused work is an exercise in futility.