Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Tomorrow I see Greg.

Greg. Tomorrow I see Greg. I love seeing Greg. He doesn't make my heart pitter-pat. He talks a whole lot more than he ought to, which means he babbles. He is a sweetie, but no one is going to offer him a Rhodes Scholarship. Or a scholarship of any kind. Still, I love to see Greg. He is my physical mechanic. His license states that he is a Licensed Massage Therapist, but he is really a mechanic. He fixes my "itis-es", he massages my tight muscles, ligaments and tendons. All my deep tissues groan at the release, but he fixes me. As long as there is nothing truly orthopedically wrong with me, like a stress fracture, Greg is the go-to guy for the fix. Nothing is wrong with me, not seriously wrong with me, at the moment. I have some tightness in my IT bands. I have some not minor but not major tendonitis in my feet. My PF is quiet. But, I am working the years, and so I think some preventative maintenance is in order. The kinks are starting to accumulate, and this marathon is important to me. My Babysitting Goddess will watch the Small People (rather, take them to her powder-puff football game -- she plays defense. She broke her finger 2 weeks ago. I do love her.). And I will get a tune up.

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