I’ve been raising the bar on myself literally and figuratively as the week’s progressed. I’m feeling much more alive, like I’ve been sandblasted and my shape is re-emerging.
But my knee continues to be tender.
I’ve never been to a chiropractor in my life. Everybody is raving about the one on staff. After ice does nothing for the swelling, I give in. The visit is 50 bucks.
The doc sort of looks like a younger, even-dreamier version of Andre Agassi. No wonder some of the guests are smitten (to put it politely.)
He pulls out an iPad (how did Dr. Kildare ever function without one?) to show me an instant diagram of the likely problem. He pushes on my back and the air spews from my mouth like I’m a deflated balloon.
Then he pulls and twists like I’m an adjustable chair. Weird popping noises all over the place. I can’t stop giggling, mostly out of fear of being manipulated.
I was hoping he could stretch me another foot or two. Oh, well. But he did say if I iced my lower back that night (rather than the knee) I’d be able to safety resume activities.