Even at its worst, in the height of marathon training, my hip never hurt as much as the torture the physical therapist put me through today. I tried not to actually writhe around on the table. Much. Here's the conversation that ensued:
Me: "Ow. Ow ow ow ow. Sorry."
Dan: "What are you sorry about?"
Me: "I don't want to make you feel bad for doing your job."
Dan: "Oh, don't worry about that. At PT school they pretty much rid you of—"
Me: "Kindness and human compassion?"
Dan: "That's probably a good way to put it."
So last time I was there he told me that if I needed to keep training, we could work around that and still get my hip healed. But then today, he goes, "So you're not running anymore, right?" Um…right. Also, I'm definitely not planning to run 6.5 miles later on the treadmill.
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