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!