So, allow me to state the obvious: funerals, wakes, and memorial services are not fun. They aren't meant to be fun. They're meant to give us a chance to reflect, ponder, say goodbye, and comfort each other. I really believe that when someone dies, they are in a better place; though as a non-Christian I don't have a lot of images or news to share about what that place might be. It doesn't stop me from being sad. But it helps me understand why people I knew are missing from my sight.
Why I am up early today going to a service is complicated and has to do with my job. My job is so complicated to explain and when thinking about this post (you know, five minutes ago) I realized I haven't explained it other than to say that my schedule is a moving target each week, and I'm on the road a lot. I work for a world-wide after school education program. Our business model is that our instructors are our franchisees, and my job is to run this region as the field consultant/franchise development manager. I was hired by the company, so I work for the franchisor, but it is part of my job to have relationships with the franchisees who are also instructors. It is also my job, at times to be all business with them. And it is my job to travel to them to work side by side with them. It is my job to provide ongoing training and professional development. It is my job to set goals with them, and help make action plans with time bounded steps to achieve them. It is my job to be a consultant for operations, business, and the side of this that I am most drawn to, education, student observation, and lesson planning. It is my job to train new candidates and help them get their centers open. It is my job to work with existing instructors on making changes. It is my job to deliver good and bad news, and it is my job to plan lunches, meetings, and the Christmas party. I've eaten a lot of pizza and sushi with these people.
But they're not exactly my colleagues. Some franchisees would say I work for them, since their royalties keep the company's doors open. Some franchisees would say they feel they work for us when they're feeling especially put upon by the company's requirements. I hope that most would say I am their liaison and partner in helping them have more satisfying success in their business in terms of being educators, but also in terms of being profitable.
From the outside, if you saw us eating sushi, it would look like we are friends, colleagues, and equals. But there's an invisible line. I can't be their friends. I can't drink with them, or go to their houses, because that makes business messy and tense. Likewise, I gather from franchisees (from our company as well as other franchise systems) that while they may like their field consultant very much, they too feel the separation in that there are some things they might hesitate to bring up in a conversation with that person . . . just in case the field consultant's "Big Brother" ears are on.
Lines get crossed, and envelopes get pushed, sometimes to the benefit of the working relationship and sometimes to the detriment of it. If I've learned nothing else in my 5.5 years in this position, it's that you can't do this job well without a strong personal relationship with the franchisees built on respect, trust, and integrity. But on the other hand, since it's business, you also can't always fall back on that relationship.
This week the lines have been very blurry because one of my franchisees died. He was a beloved instructor to his students and their parents, and I have eaten a lot of sushi with him. In fact, there have been times where I've eaten with him, his wife, and his son - see above for where the lines get crossed. So, at once, I have been a shoulder to cry on, a business adviser, a counselor, and the action-taker who took charge of making a plan for the center, the communicator who called parents and families, and the only person here in Colorado to represent anything the company needed done.
Looking at that paragraph above, those are the shoes I fill every day at work, including a few others - office manager shopping for supplies and making sure necessary tasks like heating and cleaning are tended to, administrative assistant, party planner, presentation giver. This is because there is no one else here for me to share responsibility with. The difference this week is that it involves the loss of someone important in the colleaguial community I facilitate, even if I'm not exactly a part of that group.
Most weeks I see the benefits and the drawbacks of being on my own out here. I don't participate in office drama, but I also don't get the help and support of colleagues very often. I don't get fed for office meetings, but I get to work in my PJs sometimes. Our jobs have a lot of work hour flexibility, but mine even more so. I have to do my own admin, I get to do a load of laundry on my lunch break (when said lunch break isn't in a car on the way to a center).
Never have a I wished for a team of people to share the load with more than this week. For my readers, please anticipate and forgive what will likely be some pretty profound fogginess and inconsistency in the coming month. Going to the service will be hard, holding a business meeting with a grieving spouse next week will be even harder.
With that, I'm off to the service in as much of a black outfit as I could pull together.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Lacrosse balls, food logs, and breathing, oh my!
I'm someone who needs a lot of professional help. I try to do things myself as much as possible, but sometimes, I just can't do things on my own. I hire people to wash my car. I sometimes hire people to do my toenails, not because I can't do it but because I love, love, love pedicures. I used to cut my own hair, but the truth is, it's worth it to pay someone else to do it. I pay to have my clothes altered because I never learned to sew. I hire people to change my oil and my condo association hires people to do our lawn care and landscaping (thank god!). I have friends who do these things on their own. I have a couple of friends who do their own oil change, and one of my oldest and dearest friends spent the summer re-siding his HOUSE for God's sake. Not me. I mean, I don't pay to have my laundry sent out or anything, I can do things for myself (I cook! I do my laundry, I hate folding, but I do it!) there are just things that it would take me so much time to do or to learn to do that it's worth it to pay to get it taken care of.
There are a couple of things about this that fascinate me. For one, it is one of the most conspicuous signs that I am in the middle class. While I grew up in a family that was comfortable most of the time, I also grew up during the last great recession, in a family with three kids. So there was very rarely extra to go around. And with one parent who was working incredibly hard to transcend not attending college and another who left a white collar job for a blue collar one, I think it's fair to say I grew up not quite in the comfortable middle class - perched nearby but not quite soundly there. I grew up in a town full of incredibly privileged families, so while we weren't ever worried about putting food on the table, I was aware of the differences. We didn't have someone clean the house, we didn't go to Disney World. New cars, nuh-uh.
I am often uncomfortable with the fact that I have launched myself into this class in society. For instance, I can't fathom buying a new car. And, I don't know that I will ever be able to hire someone to clean my house (not that I need to, my house is fully cleanable by me) because cleaning houses was one of the four jobs I worked to pay college tuition. I feel very weirdly self-conscious when I pay someone to hem my pants. I am aware that I have choices like buying plane tickets and iPhones. And there are times (like when I bought my iPhone, or when I moved into this place with in house laundry. Not in-building . . . in my HOUSE! Life-changer, woot!) that I celebrate it.
The other thing is that . . it becomes more and more natural to ask for help. In the long run, this is a good thing. I used to be pathologically, stubbornly independent. My mother loves to tell the story that when I was two I would cry out if either parent started to help me, "I'm inn-deeeee-peeenn-DENT!" It used to be painful for me to ask for or accept help. When I was on crutches for a year, my boyfriend-at-the-time offered to go down to the basement and get me a ginger-ale. I was mortified. Now, it seems like it's nothing to me to ask for help. But underneath, I am always a little concerned that I should just suck it up and do it myself.
But yeah, I get professional help. Just in the last week, I got my hair done, saw my trainer, saw a therapist, and followed a plan made by the dietician. I am logging my food, and following a plan of how many carbs, how many vegetables, how much fat and fruit, and what counts as a serving size. This means I have to measure all my food, plan carefully to get enough of everything, and do a lot of cooking (thank goodness I can do THAT by myself). I am writing everything down and thinking, "Oh, I should eat more olives tomorrow," or "Oh, I should remember that that only counts as a half serving." It's a lot to think about when I just want to grab lunch.
Meanwhile, my trainer has me not only working the kinks out in my muscles, but re-learning how to stand and walk. Today it's snowing so I'm camped on the couch because my brain is full of thoughts on how to walk. "Three point walking - heel, ball, toe." Standing is work because I'm constantly having to remind myself to change my posture, shift my weight off my toes, and unlock my knees . . . it's how the rest of the world stands, but it feels like my knees are bent when I do this. This is what is in my head while I'm cooking, while I'm showering, putting on make-up, reading the label on some granola in the aisle of Whole Foods. While I'm standing in the grocery line, or talking to someone on my feet, it looks like I'm doing normal things, you know how you do, but really I'm trying to revamp my whole way of staying upright and moving through the world. My brain is full, and it's work to keep track of this.
I am foam rolling my muscles, and using a lacrosse ball to roll my feet out. That's not only work, but it's painful and time consuming.
Add to this following a technique from the therapist about how to be assertive without expectation, and breathe through anxiety and I'm constantly questioning myself. What would expectation look like? Is my weight on my toes? Is that cheese one serving of dairy or two? Am I walking correctly? Did I roll out my leg muscles and IT band today? Breathe, breathe, assert your wants, but don't cling to any expectation about them. Is this assertive or aggressive? What do I want. Unlock your knees! Oh no, didn't eat enough fat servings today!
Oh, it's work. And it sometimes seems backwards that I pay to add this work to my day. But, I know in the end, I asked for this help. And I need it. I need not to bring more mess to sort through into the middle of my relationship. I need to have a an eating plan that allows me to eat on the road, but also be healthy and chip away at my goals. And I need (oh, I can't believe I'm going to say this) to be able to go running. I need to work out and feel good about it.
So I seek help. I work hard to work those things into my schedule. I work hard to follow the things I learn, the things I need to change, into my day-to-day. So, I bought me two lacrosse balls, I carry around my food log, and I'm working on breathing my way through the messy feelings I have right now. Oh my!
There are a couple of things about this that fascinate me. For one, it is one of the most conspicuous signs that I am in the middle class. While I grew up in a family that was comfortable most of the time, I also grew up during the last great recession, in a family with three kids. So there was very rarely extra to go around. And with one parent who was working incredibly hard to transcend not attending college and another who left a white collar job for a blue collar one, I think it's fair to say I grew up not quite in the comfortable middle class - perched nearby but not quite soundly there. I grew up in a town full of incredibly privileged families, so while we weren't ever worried about putting food on the table, I was aware of the differences. We didn't have someone clean the house, we didn't go to Disney World. New cars, nuh-uh.
I am often uncomfortable with the fact that I have launched myself into this class in society. For instance, I can't fathom buying a new car. And, I don't know that I will ever be able to hire someone to clean my house (not that I need to, my house is fully cleanable by me) because cleaning houses was one of the four jobs I worked to pay college tuition. I feel very weirdly self-conscious when I pay someone to hem my pants. I am aware that I have choices like buying plane tickets and iPhones. And there are times (like when I bought my iPhone, or when I moved into this place with in house laundry. Not in-building . . . in my HOUSE! Life-changer, woot!) that I celebrate it.
The other thing is that . . it becomes more and more natural to ask for help. In the long run, this is a good thing. I used to be pathologically, stubbornly independent. My mother loves to tell the story that when I was two I would cry out if either parent started to help me, "I'm inn-deeeee-peeenn-DENT!" It used to be painful for me to ask for or accept help. When I was on crutches for a year, my boyfriend-at-the-time offered to go down to the basement and get me a ginger-ale. I was mortified. Now, it seems like it's nothing to me to ask for help. But underneath, I am always a little concerned that I should just suck it up and do it myself.
But yeah, I get professional help. Just in the last week, I got my hair done, saw my trainer, saw a therapist, and followed a plan made by the dietician. I am logging my food, and following a plan of how many carbs, how many vegetables, how much fat and fruit, and what counts as a serving size. This means I have to measure all my food, plan carefully to get enough of everything, and do a lot of cooking (thank goodness I can do THAT by myself). I am writing everything down and thinking, "Oh, I should eat more olives tomorrow," or "Oh, I should remember that that only counts as a half serving." It's a lot to think about when I just want to grab lunch.
Meanwhile, my trainer has me not only working the kinks out in my muscles, but re-learning how to stand and walk. Today it's snowing so I'm camped on the couch because my brain is full of thoughts on how to walk. "Three point walking - heel, ball, toe." Standing is work because I'm constantly having to remind myself to change my posture, shift my weight off my toes, and unlock my knees . . . it's how the rest of the world stands, but it feels like my knees are bent when I do this. This is what is in my head while I'm cooking, while I'm showering, putting on make-up, reading the label on some granola in the aisle of Whole Foods. While I'm standing in the grocery line, or talking to someone on my feet, it looks like I'm doing normal things, you know how you do, but really I'm trying to revamp my whole way of staying upright and moving through the world. My brain is full, and it's work to keep track of this.
I am foam rolling my muscles, and using a lacrosse ball to roll my feet out. That's not only work, but it's painful and time consuming.
Add to this following a technique from the therapist about how to be assertive without expectation, and breathe through anxiety and I'm constantly questioning myself. What would expectation look like? Is my weight on my toes? Is that cheese one serving of dairy or two? Am I walking correctly? Did I roll out my leg muscles and IT band today? Breathe, breathe, assert your wants, but don't cling to any expectation about them. Is this assertive or aggressive? What do I want. Unlock your knees! Oh no, didn't eat enough fat servings today!
Oh, it's work. And it sometimes seems backwards that I pay to add this work to my day. But, I know in the end, I asked for this help. And I need it. I need not to bring more mess to sort through into the middle of my relationship. I need to have a an eating plan that allows me to eat on the road, but also be healthy and chip away at my goals. And I need (oh, I can't believe I'm going to say this) to be able to go running. I need to work out and feel good about it.
So I seek help. I work hard to work those things into my schedule. I work hard to follow the things I learn, the things I need to change, into my day-to-day. So, I bought me two lacrosse balls, I carry around my food log, and I'm working on breathing my way through the messy feelings I have right now. Oh my!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Toes up! Knees unlocked!
Yesterday I was reminded that paying a trainer isn't just about having someone to work out with, or tell me what I should work on for the week. Those things are nice, but when I think of paying someone to do those things, it feels like a massive luxury. When I remember the full range of knowledge my trainer brings to the table, it feels more like a reasonable expense.
Not only does my trainer have a degree in exercise physiology and kinesthesiology, not only can he consult on my nutrition as he reminded me last Sunday, but he also can help me problem solve when my body is falling apart. In 2010 I called him on a Friday from Phoenix and said, "Ummm, I dislocated my knee. I'm taking this Sunday off and will see a doctor on Monday." After seeing the doc and getting referred to PT my trainer was like, "Yeah, we can work out. No big deal." He built workouts that allowed me to keep progressing in as many areas as possible, and I was glad that I spent only one week laid up on the couch. I was grateful to have part of my life NOT be interrupted by that injury. All injuries seriously suck, but after going through a year of trying to avoid surgery on that very knee in 1997/98 and then having the surgery, followed by another year of rehab (1998/99), having that reconstruction fail me wasn't just physically painful, it was emotional for me to. Having my trainer work around it without a blink was actually reassuring and kept me motivated.
Six weeks after that knee took it's trip out to the side, my other knee took three trips out to the side. I can't say he and I soldiered on without blinking when it was crutches and two bad knees. I certainly can't say we just shrugged it off when my MRI results were in and the total wreckage news was delivered upon us (I tore my ACL, mediapatellar femoral ligament, and meniscus. I wrecked it good. Go big or go home!), but we did keep going. We kept going by doing a lot of things sitting down, a lot of exercises that strengthened my back, shoulders, arms, and abs and a few things laying down. we kept going by making fun of my crutches. We were limited, but we kept going. I had a few friends who said, "Wouldn't it be better to save your paid time with the trainer until you can do more?" Sure. But at a time when I felt helpless, weak, and useless it was important for me to have a few opportunities to feel strong, powerful and capable.
Any trainer who can work around two injured legs is a keeper, but yes, he is also fun to work out with, capable of guiding me nutritionally, and he makes me laugh. What amazed me today was how he set about fixing my running issues . I texted him on Thursday and said, "Something is wrong with my running - backs of my legs right under my calves feels hard and bruised to the touch, but there's no bruise. feet cramping so bad they're going numb. Please help me figure out what I'm doing wrong when I see you Sunday."
I walked in yesterday and he had a plan already in place, a plan that involved me working out without shoes. We rolled the muscles of my feet and calves with a lacrosse ball, and then he explained to me that the muscles and tendons in my lower leg connect up to my thigh and hip flexors, but also down into my feet, pulling on the achilles tendon. He told me that some of the ways I have compensated for my knees or have learned to walk with the joint laxity I have are causing me to put more pressure on my arches and toes. This in turn causes me to tense the muscles in my calves, and below, while relaxing the muscles on my shins. That pulls me forward, putting more pressure on my toes, and taking weight off my heels. Additionally, my knees are so loose that they often hyperextend . . . which means they bend backwards. That pushes my pelvis in the wrong direction, tightening muscles in my lower back, pulling up on my IT band and all the muscles and tendons of my legs . . . contributing more to the damn feet.
So, basically, I'm put together all wrong and so I walk wrong. I put pressure on my toes and arches, and I lock my knees out hyperextended which pulls my pelvis and lower back into the wrong place therefore pulling on the muscles in the backs of my legs and puts more pressure on my feet in the wrong places. I try not to blame my parents for constructing me wrong. After all, I was their first; they didn't know what they were doing. But a lot of issues seem to stem from these bad knees which are a result of faulty construction - it'd be nice to pass the blame off. But it won't help me walk right. And without walking correctly, it's unlikely that I will run correctly.
The workout was mentally difficult for me. It wasn't that physically strenuous, because we were focusing on a lot of exercises where I could stand with my knees straight-not-hyper-extended (which feels bent to me) and my toes flexed up towards my face. Every time I wasn't lifting something I got the treatment that tall willowy blondes get when they walk down the street. I got looked up and down to make sure my posture was good, my weight was on my heels, and my knees weren't locked. I was reminded over and over to "unlock [your] knees," and "take the weight off [your] heels." It's pretty frustrating to realize after more than three decades on the planet that I don't know how to stand properly. Arg! Retrain! Retrain!
I am hopeful that re-training myself will result in more comfortable joints, better ability to do more, and a return to running. Best of all would be not having my feet turn into hobbled nubs of themselves as they cramp so hard that my toes curl under.
I was also pretty impressed that without watching me walk or run, without "examining" my legs or feet, just through a text, my trainer could figure out what was wrong, and put me back on the right track. It was reassuring to find that I could walk in and have a workout designed specifically for the issue I was having. If you're interested here are some of the things we did: dead lifts while making sure I was weighted on my heels and not my toes, planks while lifting each leg for one second, keeping toes flexed and knees straight. I also did renegade rows. This is down in a plank position with toes bent to support me but arms are straight down from the shoulder and holding 25 pound weights. As I bring each arm up one at a time I curl into my body holding the weight. We did an exercise that reminded me of bobbing and weaving along the rope in karate - my trainer stretched a theraband our and had me squat (toes up!) and bob and weave for 60 seconds. We did a combination movement of one legged touchdown (enjoy the music on that one!) and lunge where I had to stand on one leg (toes up! knees unlocked!) and send my other leg out behind me and then touch the ground, then stand upright and swing that leg through to a lunge bending the toes of my back/planted foot and keeping the weight off the toes of the front/lunging foot. (I was sweating a lot after that one not because it was so physically strenuous but because the effort of keeping my feet even and my toes where they were supposed to be was enormous.) We did a few other exercises but you get the picture - with no shoes on we could always be looking at what my feet were doing, as well as keeping an eye on whether or not my knees were locked out. We finished by stretching and foam rolling my trouble spots. I won't lie - it was painful. In fact, it was a bitch. But I walked out of there feeling looser all over and more comfortable moving. And it's also good to know that something so simple can help.
I was relieved to find out I hadn't just been wimping out - that this is a real problem. (I always secretly worry that I am a wuss and that the pain I feel is "not that bad" and that I should just "suck it up.") One that I can fix. So, if you see me mumbling to myself about how my feet ar turned out, keeping the weight on my heels, making sure to walk so that I hit three points on my feet (heel, ball, toe), or my knees being unlocked, I'm not crazy. Well, I might be crazy, but it's for a reason.
Not only does my trainer have a degree in exercise physiology and kinesthesiology, not only can he consult on my nutrition as he reminded me last Sunday, but he also can help me problem solve when my body is falling apart. In 2010 I called him on a Friday from Phoenix and said, "Ummm, I dislocated my knee. I'm taking this Sunday off and will see a doctor on Monday." After seeing the doc and getting referred to PT my trainer was like, "Yeah, we can work out. No big deal." He built workouts that allowed me to keep progressing in as many areas as possible, and I was glad that I spent only one week laid up on the couch. I was grateful to have part of my life NOT be interrupted by that injury. All injuries seriously suck, but after going through a year of trying to avoid surgery on that very knee in 1997/98 and then having the surgery, followed by another year of rehab (1998/99), having that reconstruction fail me wasn't just physically painful, it was emotional for me to. Having my trainer work around it without a blink was actually reassuring and kept me motivated.
Six weeks after that knee took it's trip out to the side, my other knee took three trips out to the side. I can't say he and I soldiered on without blinking when it was crutches and two bad knees. I certainly can't say we just shrugged it off when my MRI results were in and the total wreckage news was delivered upon us (I tore my ACL, mediapatellar femoral ligament, and meniscus. I wrecked it good. Go big or go home!), but we did keep going. We kept going by doing a lot of things sitting down, a lot of exercises that strengthened my back, shoulders, arms, and abs and a few things laying down. we kept going by making fun of my crutches. We were limited, but we kept going. I had a few friends who said, "Wouldn't it be better to save your paid time with the trainer until you can do more?" Sure. But at a time when I felt helpless, weak, and useless it was important for me to have a few opportunities to feel strong, powerful and capable.
Any trainer who can work around two injured legs is a keeper, but yes, he is also fun to work out with, capable of guiding me nutritionally, and he makes me laugh. What amazed me today was how he set about fixing my running issues . I texted him on Thursday and said, "Something is wrong with my running - backs of my legs right under my calves feels hard and bruised to the touch, but there's no bruise. feet cramping so bad they're going numb. Please help me figure out what I'm doing wrong when I see you Sunday."
I walked in yesterday and he had a plan already in place, a plan that involved me working out without shoes. We rolled the muscles of my feet and calves with a lacrosse ball, and then he explained to me that the muscles and tendons in my lower leg connect up to my thigh and hip flexors, but also down into my feet, pulling on the achilles tendon. He told me that some of the ways I have compensated for my knees or have learned to walk with the joint laxity I have are causing me to put more pressure on my arches and toes. This in turn causes me to tense the muscles in my calves, and below, while relaxing the muscles on my shins. That pulls me forward, putting more pressure on my toes, and taking weight off my heels. Additionally, my knees are so loose that they often hyperextend . . . which means they bend backwards. That pushes my pelvis in the wrong direction, tightening muscles in my lower back, pulling up on my IT band and all the muscles and tendons of my legs . . . contributing more to the damn feet.
So, basically, I'm put together all wrong and so I walk wrong. I put pressure on my toes and arches, and I lock my knees out hyperextended which pulls my pelvis and lower back into the wrong place therefore pulling on the muscles in the backs of my legs and puts more pressure on my feet in the wrong places. I try not to blame my parents for constructing me wrong. After all, I was their first; they didn't know what they were doing. But a lot of issues seem to stem from these bad knees which are a result of faulty construction - it'd be nice to pass the blame off. But it won't help me walk right. And without walking correctly, it's unlikely that I will run correctly.
The workout was mentally difficult for me. It wasn't that physically strenuous, because we were focusing on a lot of exercises where I could stand with my knees straight-not-hyper-extended (which feels bent to me) and my toes flexed up towards my face. Every time I wasn't lifting something I got the treatment that tall willowy blondes get when they walk down the street. I got looked up and down to make sure my posture was good, my weight was on my heels, and my knees weren't locked. I was reminded over and over to "unlock [your] knees," and "take the weight off [your] heels." It's pretty frustrating to realize after more than three decades on the planet that I don't know how to stand properly. Arg! Retrain! Retrain!
I am hopeful that re-training myself will result in more comfortable joints, better ability to do more, and a return to running. Best of all would be not having my feet turn into hobbled nubs of themselves as they cramp so hard that my toes curl under.
I was also pretty impressed that without watching me walk or run, without "examining" my legs or feet, just through a text, my trainer could figure out what was wrong, and put me back on the right track. It was reassuring to find that I could walk in and have a workout designed specifically for the issue I was having. If you're interested here are some of the things we did: dead lifts while making sure I was weighted on my heels and not my toes, planks while lifting each leg for one second, keeping toes flexed and knees straight. I also did renegade rows. This is down in a plank position with toes bent to support me but arms are straight down from the shoulder and holding 25 pound weights. As I bring each arm up one at a time I curl into my body holding the weight. We did an exercise that reminded me of bobbing and weaving along the rope in karate - my trainer stretched a theraband our and had me squat (toes up!) and bob and weave for 60 seconds. We did a combination movement of one legged touchdown (enjoy the music on that one!) and lunge where I had to stand on one leg (toes up! knees unlocked!) and send my other leg out behind me and then touch the ground, then stand upright and swing that leg through to a lunge bending the toes of my back/planted foot and keeping the weight off the toes of the front/lunging foot. (I was sweating a lot after that one not because it was so physically strenuous but because the effort of keeping my feet even and my toes where they were supposed to be was enormous.) We did a few other exercises but you get the picture - with no shoes on we could always be looking at what my feet were doing, as well as keeping an eye on whether or not my knees were locked out. We finished by stretching and foam rolling my trouble spots. I won't lie - it was painful. In fact, it was a bitch. But I walked out of there feeling looser all over and more comfortable moving. And it's also good to know that something so simple can help.
I was relieved to find out I hadn't just been wimping out - that this is a real problem. (I always secretly worry that I am a wuss and that the pain I feel is "not that bad" and that I should just "suck it up.") One that I can fix. So, if you see me mumbling to myself about how my feet ar turned out, keeping the weight on my heels, making sure to walk so that I hit three points on my feet (heel, ball, toe), or my knees being unlocked, I'm not crazy. Well, I might be crazy, but it's for a reason.
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