This morning I woke up before the alarm went off. No wonder, because when that thing goes off the whole neighborhood would awaken, and I gladly prevent that.
My first appointment is with the physiotherapist this morning. At precisely 8 o’clock. And the good man immediately gets to work, pushing, pulling and massaging. Every now and then I certainly utter outcries at that. Usually in the sense that it hurts.
He knows how to find the most sensitive spots (‘Discover your spot’, he then shouts somewhat naughty), or rather, he knows how to get rid of the knots that turn out to settle in and around my already sore spine. And I think he takes great pleasure when my cries of pain are a bit too loud.
Sometimes I think I have to hold back. Even though there is no one around at that time. Sometimes I also want to let myself go completely. And of course I am also somewhat shocked by the intensity of such expressions. Someone sitting next to this room might think something about it. However, those cries come from very deep. There is very little that can be done about it, except that it sometimes even makes arrive in a spontaneous laughing fit.
No matter how well the best man tries to do his job, the hours after such a massage I am very far in terms of clarity, but in terms of physical condition in a somewhat lesser capacity. I usually need some time to recover for the rest of the week. Anyway; I cannot escape it. And I know I am doing myself a favor by continuing to schedule appointments for the foreseeable future.
Because I secretly cherish my physiotherapist. He probably knows even better, than I do, what my body needs. And you are allowed to cry loudest thanks to a happy physiotherapist…