I decided I was going to run a quarter mile of my hill speedwalk this weekend, which was a mistake, although I have an excuse because I was taking a detour to avoid getting shot at which is another story (no, seriously) and now I am down and dirty becoming reacquainted with my rug.
This is the matter that the healing arts and all discussions about them tend to skirt. Because, in the end, when you hurt, whatever other help you have, you have got to take care of yourself. You cannot be prissy about this. You have to do what works. And if you have muscular trigger points, you end up having to roll around the floor on a massage ball until you get the pressure in at just the right angle to make the recalcitrant little cocksucker (the trigger point, not the ball) give it up and let go. If you are too Nice to look dust bunnies in the face you can limp around for the next week or so, the God Of Niceness doesn’t care.
When the Republicans yell Take Personal Responsibility For Your Health Care they seem to be talking about paying premiums. Probably no one on the Hill knows where his iliocostalis even is.
I was really hoping I had licked this one. But just a little of the running gait thing woke up the remains of what I once referred to as a “life-threatening ass injury.” The really evil hot spot seems to be in the external obliques, but the fixation between one angry rib and the spinal column seems to be driven by spastic multifidi, and there are incandescent little knots in every overlapping layer of the spinal erectors (I know, that sounds rude). I can pick these all out with my fangy little massage ball. Your average suffering SOB goes into his doctor’s office and says “My back hurts.”
None of what I am doing is rocket science, in fact I front my clients a nice little book which will sort it all out for you for about twenty bucks, but I still work on people every day, educated people, who are gobsmacked to realize that they are not more or less solid like a potato, or at best full of arcane structures which only someone with an eight-year medical education can decipher. A small number of these people will end up down on the rug with me. You can feel your way to knots even if you don’t know their names. It just comes in handy sometimes.
Modern life seems to prescribe three acceptable positions for people: standing/walking, sitting, lying down. If you take an exercise class you get a dispensation to cavort a bit on a mat.
Screw it! I want to see you hanging off your furniture like Dali’s watches! Suspended from the doorjamb! Spraddle-legged with your arms locked behind you in the middle of the kitchen! And supine on your rug with a tennis ball under your seized-up shoulderblades! Life is too short!
Come to think of it, this was the kind of thing that got me chewed out in first grade. Can’t take me anywhere.
Love your rug. Screw decorum. Pain hurts too much.