This morning my alarm blasted at 4:30 a.m.. For some reason I had booked a physio appointment for 7 a.m. Take note, my physio is located in the valley. On a good day, that’s 45 minutes away, but more likely an hour away. I probably could have got away with another 15 minutes of sleep, but I did not want to take any chances with being late for this appointment. I’d been waiting three weeks for this date, there was no way I would screw it up by being late.
I walked through the door and the first person I saw was Dear Physio. He had a quizzical look on his face, but I just figured it was early. I walked up to the receptionist. We don’t have you on the list, she says. What? I booked an appointment, I made it three weeks ago. She looks in her computer… oh no.
Turns out, I was extremely early, like two freaking days early! Are you kidding me? She asks Dear Physio if he can squeeze me in. He looks at me apologetically and says I don’t think I can swing it, not today, I’m booked solid, he says. My heart sunk. I had visions of him giving me great news, visions of him telling me I could run tomorrow, visions of me frolicking through the dandelions (okay maybe not the last ones) and in one fell swoop, those visions were shattered.
Apparently, though, I’m not so good at hiding my feelings. Just as I was about to walk out the door, glumly telling Dear Physio not to worry about it, that I’d already waited this long, I could wait another two days, he told me to hold on, hemmed and hawed for a second, then told me to sit down and he’d see what he could do.
Fifteen minutes later he was marching me into one of the exam rooms. Insert gospel singers here: HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HALL-E-LUUUU-JAHHHHH!
I love my physio!
So here’s the deal, the inflamed bursa sac has gone down, but not 100 per cent. Leave it to Dear Physio to find the points of pain. The inflammation is still anchored around the outer edges of the knee joint, but he doesn’t believe it’s such a worry anymore. He told me to go for a run tomorrow, just a short, easy run to see how the bursa handles the impact. If it swells up right away, I’ve got problems. If not, I’m golden … sort of. There is still that slightly inflamed bursa, but whatever, it’s totally going away. Totally.
Mario and I went and saw the Pearl Jam Twenty documentary tonight, that was directed by Cameron Crowe. Walking out of that theatre we had the goofiest grins smacked onto our faces. We were literally glowing. Both of us have had a love affair with the band for years that started at different points in each of our lives. For me, the footage from the band’s early days when the Seattle scene really took hold on the music industry took me back to the hours I spent in my bedroom from 13-16 listening to Ten and Temple of the Dog and Verses on repeat over and over and over again. If you have ever listened to a Pearl Jam song, watch this. If you have ever listened to any band from the Seattle era, watch this. If you loved Singles, watch this. If you loved any Cameron Crowe movie, watch this.