Up At O'Dark Hundred For Therapy

I woke up at o’dark hundred this morning to crawl along with traffic into the city for an 8AM appointment with Kirsten, my new physical therapist. I like her. She was thorough. I like where we’re going with my rehabilitation. 

First, after observing my gait under different conditions—toes out like Charlie Chaplin (good hip flexion), toes in, tiptoes, walking on my stockinged heels (ouch!), even making a movie of me running on a treadmill, fer crissake—she said that poor knee is making a good recovery.

Next, we tried out—discarded one and modified two others—a new set of stretches that she prescribed. She took me off any running for two weeks, and okayed continuing a brisk daily walk and some of my current warm-up and gym exercises.

Finally, I made three more appointments with her, into mid-December. Now Matt and I are talking about coming up with a training protocol soon, and he suggested aiming for some springtime competitions—now that’s something to get my blood up!

Onward!

Back On Track

Okay, I got my act together, saw a sports medicine doctor who is on my health plan, got a positive prognosis--been feeling better since I wrote the previous screed anyway--and have begun the doc's Back to Running protocol.

Yesterday, I walked for half an hour at a good pace with no discomfort. Today I walked at the same rate for four minutes, ran for one, and repeated that three times to make fifteen minutes total. I felt it every time I landed on my still weakened (but no longer Bum) knee, but it seems to have survived alright.

I repeat this for two more days, then increase the ratio of running to walking by a fifth until it's

Good for what ails you

fifteen minutes of just running. Each level lasts three days. Any discomfort, I back off to the previous level.

I've added two more calf and hamstring stretches to my daily warmup, and am trying to complete the prescribed number and duration of kegels to strengthen my "core". I wonder if a slight grimace is the tell that I'm clinching my butt and holding it for ten seconds, again and again and again, while I'm trying to appear casual waiting at the crosswalk, sipping a latte, etc.

It feels good to have a plan, although after timing myself today, I'm looking forward to a comeuppance when I start using the stopwatch for my first hundred meters.

Onward.

The Obsessive's Motto

It’s terrible when your knee’s acquired a first name and it’s Bum.  Last week I got fed up with the knee still hurting, and called to make an appointment with a physical therapist. But they told me I can’t be their patient since, by law, they can’t take anyone on Medicare, even those, like me, who would be paying out-of-pocket. 

That’s a bummer since a) they are highly recommended, and b) the sports massage therapist they sent me to is also supposed to be good—and we’ll see—but I can’t be reimbursed for what I’ll pay him. So be it. I need any help I can get. 

'Arrrr! F#%k Moderation, Matey!

I miss running. I’ve been chafing at the restrictions on my movement, and not using my energy well. My knee snaps or pops a hundred times more than it ever used to, which was hardly at all. My mind isn’t as purposeful, and my vision of future sprinting excellence is clouded. I’m tired of having something to complain about, and the solution isn’t to simply not complain.

So, it feels good to be putting Bum Knee into the skilled hands of a knowledgeable professional. The appointment is in five days. In the meantime I’ll keep walking, rowing, lifting and pedaling, but moderately. 

The trouble is, Fuck Moderation is the obsessive’s motto.

And F#%k this "Onward" shit as well!