Truly Bionic

I went to outpatient physical therapy today . . . and survived. The first thing the therapist did was attack the scar tissue through massage. Then she worked on the quads, hamstrings and calf. Finally, she began stretching the hell out of whatever she could.

I'm told she went easy on me because this is the first session. (Gulp)

That's fine. Bring it, girl, bring it! The more she brings it, the better my recovery. This is a team effort. I chose this physical therapist because I'd heard she can be tough. Prior to the surgery, people advised me to find a physical therapist who would push me. Given the amount of complaining Soul Brother #1 did after he saw her (when recovering from rotator cuff surgery for the second time), I knew exactly whom I'd go to for my torture sessions.

Between sessions, I'm to do exercises to work on strength, extension and flexion. Yes, it's hard. Strike that, it's not hard. It's drudgery. But it's so much more preferable to living a sedentary life. I know I will get back in the water. That goal keeps me focused. Without the surgery, I'd be shit out of luck, dealing (badly) with constant pain, surfing fewer and fewer sessions until I stopped entirely. Fuck that. Who wants that? I'll sit quietly when I'm dead. Not before.