If I Hold Your Hand, It Doesn’t Mean I Love You

Or even like you all that much.

Even if I do show you my pink, lacy underwear. Again.

Bearded Physio Man – “You really have to stop holding my hand.”
Donloree – “I know. It isn’t because I like you. I don’t trust you.”
Bearded Physio Man – “How about you help by just holding your IT band steady and stop moving?”
Donloree – “It is hard to not want to harm you while you shove needles into my hip you know.”

It is hard to like someone who is stabbing needles into the the tightest part of your arse and then twanging them for good measure.

  • It is possible that I don’t know how to follow instructions. Or that I don’t really read or refer to them much at all.

Needless to say, you never want to build IKEA furniture with me … mostly because I will build it three times, incorrectly in a new way each time, and then finally fish out the instructions with the Oompah-Loompah shaped man showing you what to do. Chagrinned, I will follow his pudgy lead and eventually build it correctly.

I just don’t like instructions.

I am a learn by doing kind of woman.

This is probably why I found myself, once again, desperately trying not to slide off the physio table while squirming away from the Bearded Physio Man and sweating like I was running a marathon in Death Valley in the heat of summer.

If you make me stab myself, it is really going to put a strain on our relationship.
~ Bearded Physio Therapist Man

I thought I followed his instructions. Truly. And I was so happy to have graduated and I really didn’t want to see him again which, in my opinion, is the sign of a healthy patient – physiotherapist relationship.

Apparently I referred to the instructions and threw them in the garbage. Taking it easy to me is biking to work and back 3-4 times a week, running slowly after the Speedsters twice a week with my new, amazing running form, and then hiking up a mountain or three on the weekend.

I really didn’t think I was pushing it.

Now I am back to square one – cut off from everything once again. This past week has been torture just doing my strength exercises as assigned by the Bearded Physio Man, Running Yoda, and my massage therapist who cringes every time I land on his schedule.

After a week of being completely boring and a long weekend that included picking out paint colors and cleaning out the storage closets in my house rather than fun, outdoor adventures, I needed a reprieve.

While trying to get off the physio table and not slip off of it from all the sweating, I brokered a deal.

Donloree – “So am I done? Can I leave the den of torture now?”
Bearded Physio Man – “Yes, off you go to do nothing other than your exercises.”
Donloree – “I have to do something. Please. I am tired of being pathetic.”
Bearded Physio Man – “What do you want?”
Donloree – “I want to hike.”
Bearded Physio Man – (Watching me struggle to stand up) “How long?”
Donloree – “10 km?” (Thinking one way and not saying it out loud)
Bearded Physio Man – “How much elevation gain?”
Donloree – (bats eyelashes while trying to stand up like a normal woman) “900 meters?”
Bearded Physio Man – “Fine. 2 hours. 10 km. No more than 900 meters of elevation gain.”

Proud of my negotiating skills, which definitely need more honing since he gave me everything I asked for, I lumbered out of the office like a drunk elephant.

So I have my instructions, which I have already modified in my weekend planning. If I take out some elevation, doesn’t that give me more distance?

My math makes sense … doesn’t it?

Mountains here I come!

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Comments

  1. Ultimately, you are the decision-maker. Choose your math wisely…

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