Pausing

Physical therapy doesn't always feel very therapeutic, at least not in the moment. I started PT last week and have had two sessions now. I've learned a lot (it was helpful that during my initial evaluation there was an exercise science student observing and asking questions I might not have thought of). When she was testing the strength in different muscles in my legs I learned, not unsurprisingly, that I'm currently much weaker on the left side. But I have NO strength in my left big toe, it was such a dramatic comparison between it and my right. She said the big toe connects to the spine right where my problem is occurring. In the vein of robocop I'm just wishing for some new titanium parts right about now. The exercises make me burn, I can't believe that I was in the best shape of my life just a few months ago and now I'm standing along side little old ladies not doing much more than they are. Then my therapist starts kneading my muscles around the injury, smiling and laughing and chatting and yet insisting that she really doesn't ENJOY inflicting pain but that its for my own good. I'm not buying it yet.

Today I'll be spending an entire day in depositions, or, in other words, I'll be competing in a sitting on your ass endurance event. Fantastic. Maybe we'll get the deponent to cry, that might make me feel less cantankerous. Ok, I'm just evil today. I've been moving with the rushing water for the last few months and now I feel that I've landed on an island just big enough to hold me for a minute. Pausing . . . looking around, noticing how different the landscape is . . . beautiful and yet strange all at once. I'm pensive, catching my breath, letting the sun dry my waterlogged body but knowing that I haven't landed yet.