It's been so long since I've written that I'd forgotten what my last entry was about. It was about the surf contest in New York. M and I are in California now, and in a funny turn of events, a similar contest is taking place here in San Francisco. Neither place was a likely venue for such an event (none had ever taken place in Long Island before and this is the first in SF in thirty years), and the timing worked out that we caught the last one as we were leaving the East Coast and are catching this one just we arrived to the West Coast. Having something bracket our road trip seems to confirm our sense that this decision, which outwardly seems random and spontaneous, is right. Not just in the way that things end up right, but that it was meant to be this way.
To tell people before we left that I was moving, seemed to be a little inaccurate. We spent a month and a half on the road before getting to the Bay Area, we'll be here for a month before I spend half of December on the East Coast going on interviews and he's back on the East then too for the holidays, and then I'll be abroad and back in New Haven for two months, and we haven't planned for much after that. Because we're moving around so much, the end of the move--what characterizes a move--isn't too tangible.
Among the things we share, this flexibility is one of the most valuable to me. Being on the road is special in how easy it is to go somewhere/anywhere. M is actively open and actively adventurous, which gives our experiences an added layer of newness and absorption, a layer that almost becomes the experience itself.
We've established a mini-life in San Francisco. Mini in the sense that we're just here for about a month, mini in the sense that our routine is dictated by our impulses and has the time-feel of a vacation. So even though this feels like settled-ness compared to essentially living in our car, it's not how we would "live" if we were settling down somewhere. Though it's not exactly vacation either, because we're not going out doing vacation things every day. We just do what sustains us on a daily basis: cook and clean, climb and swim(for me)/surf(for him), explore the city intermittently, bum around regularly, be silly with the cat and each other. So sometimes, even with the ability to move anywhere, the choice to stay still for a bit feels pretty liberating.
And so even though I can't really accurately describe to you what we're doing in a label--not quite moving, not quite traveling, not quite nothing--I can say that it's good, very good. And that feeling moves me most.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
riding elements
Last week M took me the Long Beach Surf Contest, the first big contest to be held on the East Coast. Not knowing anything about surfing except for his love for it, I didn't anticipate too much. But it turned out to give on all levels--sensation, emotion, thought. If watching surfing for an entire day can do that for a girl who can't swim in the ocean, there's a reason for openness to the unfamiliar.
The first day rainy, the second day sunny, both at times uncomfortably so but mostly just enough to be steadily present. On the hot day I was without hat or sunglasses, and I felt like toast. Even though I'm almost black now, I'm glad for warmth so intense I could feel it under my skin. Watching the water for hours made it seem like a natural movie, and it's interesting to think of a natural place as a venue for something like that, a scene or an event or a narrative. There's the scene of the sky and sand changing character over the course of a day, the interaction between each surfer and water. It was amazing to see shifts in the environment, in temperature, cloud forms, tide coming in; to feel it happening to you and without any regard to you. It was amazing to see how well these people knew the water--how they adjusted for its curves and shapes and speed. And how as a result, there was crazy connection between person and water. I admire the desire and capacity to know something as dynamic, turbulent and feisty as water, especially having recently discovered how different a fluid world is versus a solid one. It changes pretty much everything, and in a way I see an exploration of it as an exploration of elements outside of yourself, that can become so deep that it's more yourself than the ground you were on before.
There is always more to say, and better ways of saying them, than I have ability and energy to write. But I wanted to put it down. Because though I don't have the expertise and experience to know and master the elements of air, water, and so on, I would like to be carried by them. And so, M & I are leaving for a long leisurely drive across country for new adventures in California.
The first day rainy, the second day sunny, both at times uncomfortably so but mostly just enough to be steadily present. On the hot day I was without hat or sunglasses, and I felt like toast. Even though I'm almost black now, I'm glad for warmth so intense I could feel it under my skin. Watching the water for hours made it seem like a natural movie, and it's interesting to think of a natural place as a venue for something like that, a scene or an event or a narrative. There's the scene of the sky and sand changing character over the course of a day, the interaction between each surfer and water. It was amazing to see shifts in the environment, in temperature, cloud forms, tide coming in; to feel it happening to you and without any regard to you. It was amazing to see how well these people knew the water--how they adjusted for its curves and shapes and speed. And how as a result, there was crazy connection between person and water. I admire the desire and capacity to know something as dynamic, turbulent and feisty as water, especially having recently discovered how different a fluid world is versus a solid one. It changes pretty much everything, and in a way I see an exploration of it as an exploration of elements outside of yourself, that can become so deep that it's more yourself than the ground you were on before.
There is always more to say, and better ways of saying them, than I have ability and energy to write. But I wanted to put it down. Because though I don't have the expertise and experience to know and master the elements of air, water, and so on, I would like to be carried by them. And so, M & I are leaving for a long leisurely drive across country for new adventures in California.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
therapy
In the past week I've pursued both physical and mental therapy, with the thought that it's good to be active and mindful of what I want, of what grounds me, and of what pushes me in positive ways. In medical school we're taught how to fix things, and M pointed out that healthcare is often seen as interventions when things have gone wrong. He noted how people don't think about how to optimize their health, even when nothing is concretely wrong. Since I want to go into primary care, with preventative care more appealing than acute care, I was struck by the thought that this is true, that even for people interested in keeping people from being sick, that a lot of care is focused on intervention and even maintenance, instead of active improvement.
I went to physical therapy today for my hip issues. While this seems like, and is, an intervention for a problem I'm having, the problem arose because of poor maintenance. The therapist told me that I have an upslip, which means that my hip has moved up compared to the rest of my pelvis. This can be caused by falls and trauma, or in my case, long history of high-impact motion without proper optimization of the muscles supporting this movement. My therapy will focus on getting the hip back into place, and then keeping it there by strengthening core and thigh muscles.
The therapist asked me what my goal for therapy was, which was a nice and important question to ask. My immediate response was to go back to running and to feel normal again. But as I learned about the exercises and thought about the 6-8 months of weekly sessions that he says it will take for me to achieve this, I realized that I've been desperate for this therapy not just to re-attain my baseline, but to have the potential to be better. Not necessarily just to run faster and longer, but also to learn the nuances of my body better, to pay more attention to those neglected muscles, to more finely tune movements, to learn new things and not feel limited--not even to just my prior baseline.
Recognizing that baseline can always be better was also what made me think about talking to someone about some of the qualities I sometimes feel trapped by. I had a moment recently where I was thinking so strongly that I should do one thing, but was swallowed by feelings that wouldn't let me do what I wanted. It was frustrating in a way I can't articulate. While I've tolerated that frustration in myself for a long time, seeing it visibly affect someone else made me think, I can try to change this. While generally adjustable to my environment and more than satisfied with the state of things, I've always had this tendency to slip into intractable moods that make me less the person I want to be. Because I appreciate the strength of responses--because this contributes to things I like and dislike about myself--it's been hard to target the negative while keeping the positive in tact. As rational and healthy as it sounds, it's hard to selectively control the intensity of emotions.
So I decided to try therapy for that too, which I have never done for anything. It's not something I've talked in-depth with anyone about, in large part because I find it really difficult to express. I think part of what I'm seeking in this process is developing more clear verbal expression of the abstractions I feel. And another part is to understand what this can do for someone. In the same way that physical therapy comes back to my life in medicine, one of my first thoughts about this is that I've recommended therapy to so many patients for such a wide range of things. So wide, that it seems to me that it's not so much a medical prescription as much as it is a natural need.
In that sense, the word "therapy" becomes more nuanced. When talking about receiving talk therapy, a classmate of mine asked, what does it mean when an intervention is something that's good for everyone? It becomes less a solution to a problem. It's not intervention, it's sustenance.
Even though it felt kind of crappy at first to feel like I'm a little mixed up--to have at twenty-seven years old the joints and moodiness of a menopausal woman--it actually mostly feels good to pursue active change. I feel lucky to still be at a stage to feel potential to do things differently, to not be stuck. And as someone who will be recommending therapy, now loosely defined as means of improvement, for my career, it's useful to be on this end of things. It makes me think that care comes not so much from distance between providers and their patients (the distance created by difference in medical knowledge and training) and this idea that one can fix the other, as much from the shared desire to live as well as we can.
I went to physical therapy today for my hip issues. While this seems like, and is, an intervention for a problem I'm having, the problem arose because of poor maintenance. The therapist told me that I have an upslip, which means that my hip has moved up compared to the rest of my pelvis. This can be caused by falls and trauma, or in my case, long history of high-impact motion without proper optimization of the muscles supporting this movement. My therapy will focus on getting the hip back into place, and then keeping it there by strengthening core and thigh muscles.
The therapist asked me what my goal for therapy was, which was a nice and important question to ask. My immediate response was to go back to running and to feel normal again. But as I learned about the exercises and thought about the 6-8 months of weekly sessions that he says it will take for me to achieve this, I realized that I've been desperate for this therapy not just to re-attain my baseline, but to have the potential to be better. Not necessarily just to run faster and longer, but also to learn the nuances of my body better, to pay more attention to those neglected muscles, to more finely tune movements, to learn new things and not feel limited--not even to just my prior baseline.
Recognizing that baseline can always be better was also what made me think about talking to someone about some of the qualities I sometimes feel trapped by. I had a moment recently where I was thinking so strongly that I should do one thing, but was swallowed by feelings that wouldn't let me do what I wanted. It was frustrating in a way I can't articulate. While I've tolerated that frustration in myself for a long time, seeing it visibly affect someone else made me think, I can try to change this. While generally adjustable to my environment and more than satisfied with the state of things, I've always had this tendency to slip into intractable moods that make me less the person I want to be. Because I appreciate the strength of responses--because this contributes to things I like and dislike about myself--it's been hard to target the negative while keeping the positive in tact. As rational and healthy as it sounds, it's hard to selectively control the intensity of emotions.
So I decided to try therapy for that too, which I have never done for anything. It's not something I've talked in-depth with anyone about, in large part because I find it really difficult to express. I think part of what I'm seeking in this process is developing more clear verbal expression of the abstractions I feel. And another part is to understand what this can do for someone. In the same way that physical therapy comes back to my life in medicine, one of my first thoughts about this is that I've recommended therapy to so many patients for such a wide range of things. So wide, that it seems to me that it's not so much a medical prescription as much as it is a natural need.
In that sense, the word "therapy" becomes more nuanced. When talking about receiving talk therapy, a classmate of mine asked, what does it mean when an intervention is something that's good for everyone? It becomes less a solution to a problem. It's not intervention, it's sustenance.
Even though it felt kind of crappy at first to feel like I'm a little mixed up--to have at twenty-seven years old the joints and moodiness of a menopausal woman--it actually mostly feels good to pursue active change. I feel lucky to still be at a stage to feel potential to do things differently, to not be stuck. And as someone who will be recommending therapy, now loosely defined as means of improvement, for my career, it's useful to be on this end of things. It makes me think that care comes not so much from distance between providers and their patients (the distance created by difference in medical knowledge and training) and this idea that one can fix the other, as much from the shared desire to live as well as we can.
Monday, August 8, 2011
girlfriends
Picking up my college roommates from the train station, the first thing M says is: Look at A's boots! A is sporting a pair of resilient chunky ankle-high hiking boots, prepared for our hike at Sleeping Giant. She has small hands and feet for her size, and the combination of petite and hardcore in the shoes give immediate amusement (and continual throughout the day as we talk about how to maximize the use of her boots during our hike).
I haven't seen these girls for a few months, and there's no need for hello, only laughs.
On our hike, I naturally read the map wrong, but we do manage to reach our destination. Along the way we talk and talk, and I'm reminded of how different conversations are with different people. There's a certain silliness and inappropriateness and openness specific to my interactions with these girls, these girls with whom I went through such a defining period of growth--not just the confusion of college but the daze of post-college and the feigned maturity of post-post college.
And it's with them that a weekend of girlfriends began, a weekend where I'm deeply reminded that I am a girl, and that it is amazing to be one. With M & A, we run through the gamut of past and current boys and flings, past and current fashions; the quality of kisses (and so on), the quality of our own bodies and how to be self-accepting; the irrationality of moods and ups and downs, and how we cope. We share the insecurities that come with being female and a person, freely and honestly because we know it's common among us and because in the end they will be sweetly funny and not damaging.
It is nice to share the trees with them, and a part of my life with them, and they appreciate it too. It's a long hike that tires us, but we reach the tower I keep telling them is the destination--it's a short tower that is anticlimactic as we approach, but it holds the view with the breeze as they fit into the arches of the tower's windows. We reward ourselves with ice cream (two scoops, which proves to be too much), and some napping at home before dinner.
The bed is where we gather before their departure, in the cozy style of a sleepover. Which lends itself to sharing photographs, commenting on male facial hair and body odor, talking about people from college I haven't thought about in ages, wondering whether people notice when you wear the same outfit ("I don't judge, but I notice"), comparing our stretch marks. In between these there lies what's more conventionally considered substance--jobs, future plans, philosophies and approaches to day-to-day and to things broadly. But when they leave I'm aware that there is incredible weight to everything we share, the kind that makes me paradoxically, wonderfully feel full and light.
*
It's this lightness that carries me through the night, where three of my med school girlfriends and I go out to dance. During dinner with M, A, and the wife, we tell M & A about our dance plans.
M: You're going to dance, just the two of you?
Wife & me, simultaneous: *shrug* we do it all the time!
(This night there are four of us, but we have gone out with just two many a good time). It's an eclectic crowd, the four of us girls, but we share the strong desire to dance that precludes caring about being the only ones on the dance floor. At Barcelona, this means having the entire space to ourselves, and I'm again so happy to be a girl. At Black Bear there are more people and songs that bring out the inner excitable. Being with girls who move with distinct styles and without any thought other than to have fun, and whose fun is so apparent in their faces and bodies, is a constant source of energy, and the fun grows exponentially with every second.
It feels so good to go all out, to both be aware of our physical selves and to let go of self-consciousness.
*
On the next day, with these same girls we make dumplings and watch Shakespeare's As You Like It as the Cabaret. I get sleepy during the play, in which I pay more attention to the use of space and creation of atmosphere than plot. And I think, what range of experiences I can have with the girls in my life, and what depth I reach in each one.
These ladies make me feel that at baseline we're something to be grateful to be: people who are capable. Of having all sorts of negative and positive feelings, from silly and jealous and insecure, to confident and affirming and persistent. It's not any one thing but more the spectrum, that I love.
I haven't seen these girls for a few months, and there's no need for hello, only laughs.
On our hike, I naturally read the map wrong, but we do manage to reach our destination. Along the way we talk and talk, and I'm reminded of how different conversations are with different people. There's a certain silliness and inappropriateness and openness specific to my interactions with these girls, these girls with whom I went through such a defining period of growth--not just the confusion of college but the daze of post-college and the feigned maturity of post-post college.
And it's with them that a weekend of girlfriends began, a weekend where I'm deeply reminded that I am a girl, and that it is amazing to be one. With M & A, we run through the gamut of past and current boys and flings, past and current fashions; the quality of kisses (and so on), the quality of our own bodies and how to be self-accepting; the irrationality of moods and ups and downs, and how we cope. We share the insecurities that come with being female and a person, freely and honestly because we know it's common among us and because in the end they will be sweetly funny and not damaging.
It is nice to share the trees with them, and a part of my life with them, and they appreciate it too. It's a long hike that tires us, but we reach the tower I keep telling them is the destination--it's a short tower that is anticlimactic as we approach, but it holds the view with the breeze as they fit into the arches of the tower's windows. We reward ourselves with ice cream (two scoops, which proves to be too much), and some napping at home before dinner.
The bed is where we gather before their departure, in the cozy style of a sleepover. Which lends itself to sharing photographs, commenting on male facial hair and body odor, talking about people from college I haven't thought about in ages, wondering whether people notice when you wear the same outfit ("I don't judge, but I notice"), comparing our stretch marks. In between these there lies what's more conventionally considered substance--jobs, future plans, philosophies and approaches to day-to-day and to things broadly. But when they leave I'm aware that there is incredible weight to everything we share, the kind that makes me paradoxically, wonderfully feel full and light.
*
It's this lightness that carries me through the night, where three of my med school girlfriends and I go out to dance. During dinner with M, A, and the wife, we tell M & A about our dance plans.
M: You're going to dance, just the two of you?
Wife & me, simultaneous: *shrug* we do it all the time!
(This night there are four of us, but we have gone out with just two many a good time). It's an eclectic crowd, the four of us girls, but we share the strong desire to dance that precludes caring about being the only ones on the dance floor. At Barcelona, this means having the entire space to ourselves, and I'm again so happy to be a girl. At Black Bear there are more people and songs that bring out the inner excitable. Being with girls who move with distinct styles and without any thought other than to have fun, and whose fun is so apparent in their faces and bodies, is a constant source of energy, and the fun grows exponentially with every second.
It feels so good to go all out, to both be aware of our physical selves and to let go of self-consciousness.
*
On the next day, with these same girls we make dumplings and watch Shakespeare's As You Like It as the Cabaret. I get sleepy during the play, in which I pay more attention to the use of space and creation of atmosphere than plot. And I think, what range of experiences I can have with the girls in my life, and what depth I reach in each one.
These ladies make me feel that at baseline we're something to be grateful to be: people who are capable. Of having all sorts of negative and positive feelings, from silly and jealous and insecure, to confident and affirming and persistent. It's not any one thing but more the spectrum, that I love.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
precognition
M told me awhile ago about a phenomenon called precognition, where people can process things that happen in the near future, without consciously knowing it. This unconscious absorption can then manifest itself in thinking about what will happen in the future, before it actually happens. In some experiments, subjects are shown images of two curtains and asked to predict under which curtain contained a picture. They were then shown which curtain was correct, and even though they had no idea before being shown, they predicted the curtain correctly more often than would be predicted by chance. The idea is that something outside the usual senses absorbs this future experience, or the experience "travels" back in time to you, so that your mind has glimpsed it before your senses do.
Since he told me about it, he's mentioned some examples that have happened to him. I am by nature like most people, resistant to ingrained, familiar processes of thought that make sense to me mainly because I haven't given them much thought. But that stubborn narrowness exists more in the immediate than long-term. The willingness to continue considering something, combined with M's natural way of pushing me to be more open, makes the world much bigger and wider, and richer.
The other day, I was telling M about a blog I read. A few days before that, I decided to finally comment on this person's blog that I've read over the past couple years. A little while ago she became sick and needed a bone marrow transplant. I was pretty jarred by this, the sudden change in a stranger's life; somehow those take on the regularity of those more familiar to you. Her blog moved to a different website and became focused on health updates. I'd read it only sporadically, but recently became invested in reading it more regularly. I like her way of taking things as they come, and how her qualities that were associated with her old life--being out and about, active, running--still seem present despite not being able to have that life anymore. I'm not sure why, after all this time, I decided to comment and tell her a little of my connection to her blog.
As I was telling M, I remembered that I was struck by how she mentioned doing "laps" around the hospital, walking with her IV down the hallway. One of the things I'd liked reading about was her running, and I was struck by the contrast. It also made me think of how sad I've been over my rusty hip, and not being able to move to the same degree as before. Compared to her change, it's not much of a difference, but with the effect this small change has had on me, I can imagine how much more difficult such loss would be. I think this is one of the things that prompted me to comment.
I'm not sure why, a couple days after posting the comment, I brought it up to M. I introduced it on my own and we had a long conversation about bone marrow transplants and donors. A few hours later, I am told that a friend has just received a letter about being a possible bone marrow match for a 51 year old man. Long story, I'm involved in communicating to this friend that she's received this letter, and I'm struck by the coincidence. M is the one to point out possible precognition.
Though experiments are centered around having precognition of something that happens just several seconds later (not several hours like my case), things like that make me feel that thoughts are in some way sent out to the universe. It's not so straightforward, like telepathy or the idea that thinking something will happen will make it happen. More that energy and thoughts exist in forms we might not feel or know directly. I don't know how much this changes anything other than maybe to consider and feel things with slightly different awareness. Which as far as measuring value of being open to the incomprehensible and unlikely, seems more than enough.
Since he told me about it, he's mentioned some examples that have happened to him. I am by nature like most people, resistant to ingrained, familiar processes of thought that make sense to me mainly because I haven't given them much thought. But that stubborn narrowness exists more in the immediate than long-term. The willingness to continue considering something, combined with M's natural way of pushing me to be more open, makes the world much bigger and wider, and richer.
The other day, I was telling M about a blog I read. A few days before that, I decided to finally comment on this person's blog that I've read over the past couple years. A little while ago she became sick and needed a bone marrow transplant. I was pretty jarred by this, the sudden change in a stranger's life; somehow those take on the regularity of those more familiar to you. Her blog moved to a different website and became focused on health updates. I'd read it only sporadically, but recently became invested in reading it more regularly. I like her way of taking things as they come, and how her qualities that were associated with her old life--being out and about, active, running--still seem present despite not being able to have that life anymore. I'm not sure why, after all this time, I decided to comment and tell her a little of my connection to her blog.
As I was telling M, I remembered that I was struck by how she mentioned doing "laps" around the hospital, walking with her IV down the hallway. One of the things I'd liked reading about was her running, and I was struck by the contrast. It also made me think of how sad I've been over my rusty hip, and not being able to move to the same degree as before. Compared to her change, it's not much of a difference, but with the effect this small change has had on me, I can imagine how much more difficult such loss would be. I think this is one of the things that prompted me to comment.
I'm not sure why, a couple days after posting the comment, I brought it up to M. I introduced it on my own and we had a long conversation about bone marrow transplants and donors. A few hours later, I am told that a friend has just received a letter about being a possible bone marrow match for a 51 year old man. Long story, I'm involved in communicating to this friend that she's received this letter, and I'm struck by the coincidence. M is the one to point out possible precognition.
Though experiments are centered around having precognition of something that happens just several seconds later (not several hours like my case), things like that make me feel that thoughts are in some way sent out to the universe. It's not so straightforward, like telepathy or the idea that thinking something will happen will make it happen. More that energy and thoughts exist in forms we might not feel or know directly. I don't know how much this changes anything other than maybe to consider and feel things with slightly different awareness. Which as far as measuring value of being open to the incomprehensible and unlikely, seems more than enough.
Monday, July 25, 2011
saturday & sunday
On Saturday M and I take a short road trip to Rhode Island, the one New England state we didn't visit on our early summer road trip. Our windows are down the whole time. The drive is mostly on 95, then for awhile along a smaller road with trees whose freshness we can smell. We drive over the bridge leading to Newport. We pass by the mansions, and look for a beach with waves. After some logistical hodgepodge of parking, coins, inquiries, beach-hopping, and so on--we make it to a warm beach with some waves where M can surf and I can be a bum. The water is chocolate brown, the brown coming not from chocolate but from massive amounts of algae. It feels good to be in it; it's been so hot. M catches one very long wave which makes him happy and a good amount of other ones too, and it's nice to see him happy in this way. After he gets out of the water he sits looking at the water while I fall asleep with his hat over my face, and when I wake up we walk out onto a cliff of boulders by the sea. There's a large one with three sides from which you can climb up, so we clamber over it for awhile and this is my favorite part--the confined yet endless exploration. Then we throw the Frisbee around, to warm up to get back into the water. He wants me to get comfortable going underwater in the ocean. So we jump into waves for awhile, one hand in his to keep from dying and my other hand over my swimsuit which slips too easily. After several of these, M looks at my back and tells me we have to get out. I follow, and seconds later feel the urgency of his return to shore--the algae living in the water is host to tiny crawling worm-like bugs that bite. We spend a good twenty minutes trying to wash them out in the same water where they swarm. We find a "shower"--a two-second stream of water giving about a fourth the volume of a faucet. There's only one, so we take turns, pressing the button for second and third streams before giving it up to someone else waiting and getting back in line for more. I can't do much about the algae now growing entwined in every strand of my hair, until we're at home and I shampoo it out half a dozen times. To get there, we drive home, in the dark now, still smelling the same trees through the windows.
On Sunday we do three loads of laundry and get groceries. M has completely run out of shirts, and I've eaten my last egg and piece of bread. And our things from the beach need much cleansing. I stock up on fruits and veggies, and he buys masala sauce and naan to make our own chicken tikka masala dish. I'm glad to have the basics in abundance, and eat two peaches, handfuls of grapes, an orange and an apple. Our attempt at Indian food is good but needs more cream added to the sauce, we decide. Next time we'll buy cream.
On Sunday we do three loads of laundry and get groceries. M has completely run out of shirts, and I've eaten my last egg and piece of bread. And our things from the beach need much cleansing. I stock up on fruits and veggies, and he buys masala sauce and naan to make our own chicken tikka masala dish. I'm glad to have the basics in abundance, and eat two peaches, handfuls of grapes, an orange and an apple. Our attempt at Indian food is good but needs more cream added to the sauce, we decide. Next time we'll buy cream.
Friday, July 22, 2011
adjustments
I've had hip pain for the past few months, which started after a run where I tried to increase speed, after months of steady running. I'd had this type of pain before and back then I went on a long running hiatus, and even after getting back to it after half a year or so, hadn't gotten back to where I was. So it was frustrating to have it happen again. This time around, I was able to get back to running sooner than last, but the pain stayed, happening during other stretching and exercising. So my classmate referred me to a friend of his who's completing the physical therapy program at USC. I talked to her, and one of her classmates, last night for an hour about my hip. They got my history, watched me do some squats, and diagnosed me with hip impingement. They told me that I need to work on strengthening the smaller muscles involved in dynamic movement like running, and that I need to stretch my hip flexors to open up the hip joint, especially since so much of my exercise entails hip flexion.
I tried the exercises today before p90x and already noticed a difference. And like with other chronic pain, the absence of pain is noticeable; normal becomes prominent. It will take longer to go away completely, but I'm very happy with the change made by this attention to small motions and interactions.
*
I had another interview with an ALS patient today. It was a full day venture, as his home is an hour drive from here, and our interview lasted two hours, and I stayed for lunch. He talked about how he notices sudden differences in his motion. One day he can stand on his tiptoes to hang home decor, three days later, he can't do it at all. He first suspected problems when he developed foot drop. When going down the stairs, he can't flex his feet and his heels come down hard on each step. The trick, he said, is to walk downstairs backwards.
I tried the exercises today before p90x and already noticed a difference. And like with other chronic pain, the absence of pain is noticeable; normal becomes prominent. It will take longer to go away completely, but I'm very happy with the change made by this attention to small motions and interactions.
*
I had another interview with an ALS patient today. It was a full day venture, as his home is an hour drive from here, and our interview lasted two hours, and I stayed for lunch. He talked about how he notices sudden differences in his motion. One day he can stand on his tiptoes to hang home decor, three days later, he can't do it at all. He first suspected problems when he developed foot drop. When going down the stairs, he can't flex his feet and his heels come down hard on each step. The trick, he said, is to walk downstairs backwards.
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