Yesterday was my first physical therapy appointment in a month and a half, and I was initially surprised by the physical therapist's surprise. It took me a moment to remember that there had been such a gap in time since she'd seen me. You don't notice a pot boiling until it's boiling--did I just make up this metaphor? Do you understand it, Dear Reader?
Perhaps some subconscious part of me dressed up for the occasion, as much as a new, fresh Puma tracksuit (red with silver trim, if you're scoring at home) with new brick red Filas can be called "dressing up." As I marched into her examination room with an almost imperceptible hitch in my gait, I remembered the first time I even took one step on that same starkly white floor, and how tried to look at the floor's lines to see if my left foot scraped forward an inch even.
I guess I'm at 75% percent now. 75ish...I have been cleared by my PT to jog. Her go-ahead was tempered with a "Make sure you work on long walks first, then progress maybe in a week or two to jogging." This seems reasonable, a dipping of a toe into the pool.
I have, in some ways, had a sort of plateau in the last few weeks. I walk strongly, with a limp that even those who know my recent history don't notice or barely notice. I have been working out steadily, four or times a week, getting that invigorating before-work workout, doing at least 3/4 of my assigned stretches and exercises.
Now, what? The little things. Balance exercises (standing on my left leg for thirty seconds, doing ten reps). A reverse Fat Joe exercise designed to loosen up the crease in front of the ankle (I lean forward, putting pressure on my left foot until the foot almost comes up off the ground).
My PT ended the appointment by telling me exactly how these stretches and exercises would help me to cut to the hoop, stop on the dead run after chasing down the offensive player, and explode up on a jump shot ("explode" being relative for a guy who is trying to dunk).
Me? Basketball. Playing, not watching. Running the lane and not sitting on the bench, coaching while trying to keep my left side turned away from anyone chasing down a loose ball?
Music to this coach's (and reborn baller's) ears...