Previously on Back Feels to Traction Heals*: Greta began seeing Chad, the aspiring fireman/physical therapist. She’d experienced some numbness in her hands and feet for which she freaked out about, convinced herself she had no less than twelve terminal debilitating illnesses and ended up in the emergency room with a panick attack one day after work calmly and rationally sought the advice of google, random people on twitter her doctor. She has costochondritis brought on by her slouchy posture, sitting in front of the computer, picking up toddlers, etc. tireless volunteer work saving refugee puppies and babies. 

When last we saw Chad, I had farted like a sailor shamed myself during an incident on the massage table. I’m doubly ashamed to admit that I found reasons to miss my PT appointments for the next week and a half because of it. Chad called me no less than three times to try and gently coax me back. “You’re at a critical point in your therapy….I want you to feel at the top of your game…I care about you….I can’t bear the thought of going another day without seeing you and you letting me wrap rubberbands around your wrists and ankles….” (Ok…so maybe I’m paraphrasing on the last one.)

Finally, after ten days apart, I decided I could put it off no longer. I made the appointment and showed up this time. Lenny, the octogenarian-one-legged-WWII-vet was there as always. Today, he sported Spongebob pajama pants and a glint in his eye. There was a rarity in the whirl pool. Mary Jo. She was in her late sixties and had a full head of black hair. Lenny was moving in for the kill.

“How do I look kid?” he whispered my way with a wink.

 I winked back and shot him a discrete thumbs up.

“Are you ready?” Chad’s voice behind me sent a chill across my shoulder blades.

“I’m all yours,” I took a deep breath as I turned around. Chad’s muscles were poured into a navy blue Fire academy T-shirt. It was a poignant reminder that our time together would soon come to an end. In just a few short weeks, the City of Ann Arbor would have him all to themselves. I was happy for the babies and puppies in distress, but sad for me.

I followed him in to our private room.

Mercifully, I made it though the ultrasound treatment and the yoga moves without any further flatulent humilation. I’d faced down my fears and Chad still wanted to be around me. Yes, he was getting 75 bucks a pop from my insurance, but I could pretend it was because he liked me for me right?

“When do you leave?” There was a catch in my voice and I know I could have been smoother. I would miss him, for sure, but dammit, working out is HARD!!!! He was asking me to live in a world that every inch of my body railed against. He wants me to have muscles? He wants me to eat healthy? He wants me to have stamina? Mercy!

He paused before answering. Two endless heartbeats. “Two weeks. But don’t worry. I’m planning on working you plenty before I go.”

He. Actually. Said. That.

To be continued…

P.S. For Furiousball anyone out there who needs something different, you may feel free to insert the name “Melissa” for Chad. She looks kind of like this and plays really rough.

P.P.S. As always, hats off to PW for continuing inspiration.