I'm angry. I'm livid. I'm apoplectic with rage. I'm going bananas. Ballistic. Mental.
I'm so annoyed I can't even say why...
Seething...
Doing my nut...
Somebody's having it... They're getting weighed in. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has my pants down and gets away with it.
Narked. Vexed.
I'll be back -Just got to go and blow up a physiotherapy clinic:) Quacks. Bounders!
I'm back and I've calmed down:) Today I decided, against my better judgement, to go see a physiotherapist (that's a bit like your PT's). Big mistake.
Checked the clinic out on the internet and they had a range of therapists who had supposedly worked with Irish Olympians etc. Arrived and the pad was professional looking etc. My Physio did all the history stuff - very good. Then they did all the right assessments - excellent I thought. Maybe we'll get this little thing sorted once and for all...
I'd told them what I thought and I sensed the physio was a tad nervous. Physio gave me all the spiel about how great my musculature was etc - I can handle that, even though I'm 14 pounds over weight.
The physio then gives my erector spinae a bit of a rub - no effleurage, petrissage, tapotement, kneeding etc - just a rub - like the good lady might do.
'We'll get you sorted over the next couple of months. I'll pass you on to my colleague - he's really good."
What the... I'm thinking. The next couple of months at 50 sheets a week. On your bike.
"That's it, for today," she said.
After a bit of chat etc - there's no diagnosis or thoughts about what's wrong or why no proper treatment etc.
I pay the Euro 50 (out of my ipad fund - yeah, I know, but I've been spending the money on cakes and sweets etc: it's part of my injury depression). They try to book me in for next week with super physio. He'll have you on the wussmill and he'll look at your gait.
So I tell them there's no point looking at my gait etc - I can't run at the moment I'm injured and I need fixing. Much embarrassment.
They book me in for next Wednesday with the rub-a-dub-dub physio.
I ain't going back. All this PT stuff is a rip. A con. Eat cake and watch the goggle-box when you're injured. Let the body heal itself.
Anyway, the good news is... my new belly - from the cakes - has pulled my si joint into place, my core muscles etc have settled and I think, if I eat a few more cakes, I'll be back running in a couple of days. |