This is completely unrelated to the post. But chocolate is to be shared. I’m not sharing with Rake, so I’m sharing with you!
Running, and Brett
I have been running my little 5km treks three times a week. Today I got the green light to move up to 7km. Woot.
But…in the process I have met an incredible chiro. My mind has been completely blown.
I was pretty suss about the whole chiropractic thing. I’d ever been to one before, and I couldn’t really work out what the deal was, except for cracking backs and making you come back for ‘readjustments’ every few days.
Ok, I was pretty judgemental.
But after months of no real improvement from physio, or improvement and then spiralling back into injury, it was time to move on. The real sign came when my physio felt every part of my legs, and then told me he couldn’t figure it out, so it was going to be a bit of ‘trial and error’.
I don’t do trial and error.
So I figured I’d give the chiro a shot. Immediately Brett freaked me out. There I was, in tears, terrified that the marathon was never going to happen.
And then he said
Let me worry about the running, ok? Forget about 10% rules and schedules.
And life has been better ever since.
Within seconds of grabbing my feet (and me bursting into tears), he diagnosed me with plantar fasciitis, showed me the way my right foot didn’t move, and told me the problem wasn’t shin splints.
I wasn’t banned from running.
I wasn’t told to ice up and rest (I have had so much rest that the rest is causing shin splints!).
Instead, I got the crap accupunctured (I know it’s not a word, k?) out of my legs, and the scar tissue massaged out of my poor right ankle.
In 8 months of physio, not once was my previously sprained right ankle considered an issue.
Today I got the best news I’ve had in ages:
You’re 50% better
This might not sound like much, but I was ready for a life time of dodgy leg by the time I got to him, so instead I beamed like a lunatic.
And that’s the story of Kate and the South African chiro who talks philosophy, animal rights and relationships while he beats the sh*t out my legs.
A few months ago, my bike got stolen. It was awful. I had bought it as a replacement car or life in Canberra. It was beautiful, and it was taken from me outside my gym.
Fast forward a bit, and Mr The Rake, who is absolutely gorgeous, told me to take his bike, which is the same model and size as my old one.
This week I got to ride it to uni and back, and it felt SO good to be back on the bike!
AND I got my tax return sorted out. Instead of getting sorely need clothes or a haircut, I booked myself in for 3 personal training sessions at the gym.
To add to the exercise junkie I’ve let loose this week, my gym manager has decided that she and I will be a team for this November’s Urban Max in Sydney.
Don’t worry, she knows I have NO sense of direction.
We go on some epic cryptic clue race around Sydney, running, yelling, solving puzzles and competing in challenges.
I am super excited by all of it.
However, it’s not Mr The Rake’s idea of fun:
I bet he’ll sleep through all of this – including my 7am running group session tomorrow.
Oh wait. He has a day job. Sucks to be you, Rake.
A man at the fruit market gave me a free cup of his melon, carrot and ginger juice today. It was delicious!