A Return to Running? (And a shout out to my peeps).

Yesterday I had the second of what should be eight physical therapy appointments. And when I say, "should be," I really mean "I pray to all that is holy will only be," because I'm pretty sure I can't handle any more than that. It is difficult to remember any other time in my life--including a dozen or so broken bones and a particularly nasty fifteen-round bout with full-back spasms--during which I endured so much pain in so little time. Since my last two courses of PT were all touchy-feely and soothing, the current approach came as something of a shock.

We're talking "How soundproof are these wall, doc?" levels of pain.

Near as I can tell, the therapist found some way to introduce around 50,000 psi of pressure up and down both heels, using only his fingers. Plus maybe a No. 5 scalpel, Vise-Grip pliers, and a rusty railroad spike.

And after thirty minutes that would have done Torquemada proud and had me BEGGING for waterboarding instead . . .

My heels actually felt better.

Not "heat/ultrasound/electrical stimulation/reduce-the-inflammation"-better. But "Hey, I can move my feet 10 degrees more in every direction"-better. Even though they were in some ways MORE inflamed than before.

I don't know and don't care whether he's selling snake oil and I'm just experiencing the biggest placebo effect in history. I do know and do care that I've run three times since the first treatment -- once easy and short, once hard and short, and once moderate and longer -- and that I could walk the next morning each time.

I can't say I'm looking forward to the next six sessions (can anyone here hook me up with a good connection for morphine?), but I'd actually forgotten what it felt like for my heels not to feel like they had been duct-taped in place. We shall see -- today I'm going to try a seven-miler at a decent clip.

Also, a huge shout-out to Spencer and Max, both of whom set me up with some cool running or at least running-related gear. Y'all rock.

P.S. I solemnly swear never to use the neologism "peeps" again; I don't know what came over me, and I don't eat the homophonic Easter confection.