Sigh. I'm in love with my p.t.
The last time I went to physical therapy, 16 months ago, for Achilles tendonitis (pulled calf tendon, from pounding the concrete floor at Goodwill), he was my p.t., and I loved him pretty well--he's an impressive guy-- a PhD in p.t., he's kind, patient, and smart, and, as my friend John says of nice-looking guys, he wouldn't scare the horses;
but having just gone back this morning (flare up––damn concrete floors), I love him even more:
he has since become a captain in the medical corps of the army.
"A captain!" I said. "Like Captain Kirk," and he agreed that the rank of captain is "pretty cool."
So, there's all that. But what really makes me love him is that he calmly gives me belief I can heal, get stronger and, inshallah, prepare for a healthy old age.
I'm lucky I've always had overall good health. I told him that when I was twenty-three, I had hopped on my bike and rode to Duluth, with no prep. I biked 50 miles a day, for 3 days––not far or fast––but the point is, I had done NO training beforehand. I just did it.
"If that was your goal," he said, "you could bike to Duluth this year too––just give yourself three months to prepare."
See why I love him?
The problem is (I've written about this before)––never having had to work at being strong, I'm having a hard time adjusting to a middle-aged body. To maintain what used to come naturally, I have to DO something, and keep doing it.
I've never been good at that.
I told the captain that my goal was to approach my job, moving books around, as physical training---that is, to use it to get strong and NOT HURT MYSELF.
Since I am the boss of how I use my 20 hours/week at work (unlike at GW), I could be more intentional about how I use my body there. Already, sore tendon notwithstanding, I'm much stronger than I was seven+ months ago, when I became Custodian of Books.
"We'll work on a plan," he said. Studies show it's better, he said, to get your exercise throughout the day like that, rather than sitting all day and then going to the gym for an hour.
Good thing I came in now--this spring he's going to get shipped out...probably to somewhere hot.
The other thing I love about my p.t is that he is taking on this new role because he wants a new challenge, "an adventure".
He's twenty years younger than me, but just last night I was thinking something along those lines. NOT the army, godforbid! but as I was lying on the couch, having caught up on all the back issues of the Economist, I was wondering what to do with having energy again.
I've never been a super-energetic person. When I first started at the thrift store, I was wiped out after each shift. But now I come home with a little (just a little) energy leftover.
Which is great!
Of course there's lots I could do. Cook, sew toys, etc.
But there's that little bug that says, I'm my own captain, and I want a new adventure.
Even just a little tiny one...
The last time I went to physical therapy, 16 months ago, for Achilles tendonitis (pulled calf tendon, from pounding the concrete floor at Goodwill), he was my p.t., and I loved him pretty well--he's an impressive guy-- a PhD in p.t., he's kind, patient, and smart, and, as my friend John says of nice-looking guys, he wouldn't scare the horses;
but having just gone back this morning (flare up––damn concrete floors), I love him even more:
he has since become a captain in the medical corps of the army.
"A captain!" I said. "Like Captain Kirk," and he agreed that the rank of captain is "pretty cool."
So, there's all that. But what really makes me love him is that he calmly gives me belief I can heal, get stronger and, inshallah, prepare for a healthy old age.
I'm lucky I've always had overall good health. I told him that when I was twenty-three, I had hopped on my bike and rode to Duluth, with no prep. I biked 50 miles a day, for 3 days––not far or fast––but the point is, I had done NO training beforehand. I just did it.
"If that was your goal," he said, "you could bike to Duluth this year too––just give yourself three months to prepare."
See why I love him?
The problem is (I've written about this before)––never having had to work at being strong, I'm having a hard time adjusting to a middle-aged body. To maintain what used to come naturally, I have to DO something, and keep doing it.
I've never been good at that.
I told the captain that my goal was to approach my job, moving books around, as physical training---that is, to use it to get strong and NOT HURT MYSELF.
Since I am the boss of how I use my 20 hours/week at work (unlike at GW), I could be more intentional about how I use my body there. Already, sore tendon notwithstanding, I'm much stronger than I was seven+ months ago, when I became Custodian of Books.
"We'll work on a plan," he said. Studies show it's better, he said, to get your exercise throughout the day like that, rather than sitting all day and then going to the gym for an hour.
Good thing I came in now--this spring he's going to get shipped out...probably to somewhere hot.
The other thing I love about my p.t is that he is taking on this new role because he wants a new challenge, "an adventure".
He's twenty years younger than me, but just last night I was thinking something along those lines. NOT the army, godforbid! but as I was lying on the couch, having caught up on all the back issues of the Economist, I was wondering what to do with having energy again.
I've never been a super-energetic person. When I first started at the thrift store, I was wiped out after each shift. But now I come home with a little (just a little) energy leftover.
Which is great!
Of course there's lots I could do. Cook, sew toys, etc.
But there's that little bug that says, I'm my own captain, and I want a new adventure.
Even just a little tiny one...
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Isn't it wonderful to connect with the right person at the right time - like a wish being granted.
ReplyDeleteYes, that's it, SPARKER---the right person when you need them--can definitely be love inducing!
ReplyDelete