pitchers, puckheads and punch cards

At ORS this week, my patients, for the most part, have fallen into three categories:

Pitchers.

Policemen.

Public works employees.

I'm seeing two pitchers right now (though neither for throwing-related injuries), one of whom got a surprising call Monday night, informing him that he'd be throwing the first pitch at Wrigley Field a week from Sunday. He's a diehard Cubs fan who has had season tickets ever since they started selling them, and from what I can tell, this guy knows people. So now he's faced with the daunting task of throwing a baseball 60 feet, 6 inches in front of 40,000 people. The thing is, he didn't call up Dave because he's injured or in pain. It's just that he hasn't thrown a ball in almost 50 years, and he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.  I don't blame him. Oh, and he's a few months shy of 80. Regardless, he's an awesome guy, and we've been spending time doing some stretching and strengthening, and going outside to play catch with a glove I'm borrowing from the other pitcher I'm treating (who's also a public works employee). It's a lot of fun, but we have a lot of work to do before the 18th! (Myself included. Considering I haven't played since oh, 2nd grade, my baseball skills are a bit rusty. I'm learning just as much from him as he is from me. I believe you call that bonding?) Today, I gave him an ORS shirt to wear under his Cubs jersey, and we practiced ripping his jersey off after he successfully hurls the pitch as a bit of advertising for the clinic. He has been warned (dare I say threatened?) that if he decides to throw underhand, is grossly off-target, or for some reason the ball doesn't make it all the way to the plate, he isn't allowed to show his ORS pride and the Cubs jersey stays buttoned.

Preparing for the 60.5 feet my patient needs to throw at Wrigley Field by next weekend...eek!

Onto police officers-- one of the cops I'm seeing used to play semi-pro hockey all over the US and in England, and is trying to teach me how to fight. Despite the fact that I deny wanting to know anything about how to hit, punch, break off plastic face masks, maneuver my stick with bad intentions, or do anything else dirty on the ice, I don't have much of a choice but to listen when I'm doing 30 minutes of manual therapy on his shoulder at a time. But I do enjoy hearing stories about how guys he's arrested come back to try to fight him on the ice, and lose to him yet again. This is one guy I'm glad I don't have to skate against next Monday when I go to open hockey. Yes-- that's right-- I'm beaming as I write this. Open hockey! I get to skate, and I get to show the boys from Illinois how it's done in the state of hockey. There are few things I cherish more in this world than seeing the looks on guys' faces when they see the ponytail peeking out under the helmet of the (gasp!) girl that just took the puck away from them. Trust me, I'm counting down until I get to step onto the ice. 

On a hockey-related note, 2 things:

1. I don't know why I did it. Partially, it was boredom. Partially, it was Grey's Anatomy wanting to edge its way back into my life. (Jess, Kristy, Alina, Mac- you'll be happy to hear I'm almost caught up with the last season). But whatever the reason, I gave into Twitter. I know, I know, I've always thought it was kind of obnoxious, but I was curious. I have no idea how to use it, but I figure if I use enough # and @, I'm bound to get something right. How does this relate to hockey, you ask? My twitter account name is "iwasborntoskate." I spent quite a while thinking of that, by the way. Feel free to "follow" me, but it might be a while until I figure out the purpose of this, yet another social media networking site. I feel like I'm repeating myself between Facebook, my blog, the journal I've written in every day since 2000 (I'm not exaggerating) and now Twitter, but I'll try to find a healthy balance.

2. It may have taken me three and a half weeks, but I'm finally getting comfortable here in my new community. Tomorrow, I'm meeting with the president of the Rockford Hockey Club to discuss coaching options! Of course, I told him I'd only be around till mid-October, but I'm itching to get onto the ice to coach, and I think he was intrigued that a female (there is no girls' hockey in Northern IL...anywhere) from MN wants to get involved. I'm stoked. I even arranged to get my snazzy East Ridge HS coaching outfit delivered here on Sunday in anticipation :)

Randomly, this is what I was doing 1 year ago this weekend...PT Hoedown Showdown! Always fun to make a kegger into a fundraiser.

Aside from coaching, I'm managing to get my feet wet elsewhere in the community. I've found Groupon to be awesomely helpful. First, I bought a punch card to a cute coffee shop where I go to brush up on my mobilizations and modalities. And yesterday, I bought a punch card to Rockford Fitness for 10 boot camp classes. After all of my frustration and inability to find a gym that I can afford and that was half as cool as LA Fitness at home, this was my solution. I ran at lunch today, then showed up to the class at 5:30, only to regret running about 20 seconds later. I can bike and swim and run and skate all day long, but during this class, I wanted to die. 8 rounds of a 4-station circuit with 20-second stops at each station and a 10 second rest in between. Like I said, I am in shape, but this was tough. I can't wait to go back. 

Also, my dad is pretty awesome. He's going to hate me for putting this online but I'm pretty dang proud.

But ahhh, it's Thursday already. One of my pals from the clinic invited me to a block party-like event with him and his wife this weekend. He's not my or Dave's patient, so I'm really hoping I'm not violating any ethical anything here. I'm considering going...if I can fit it into my busy weekend schedule, that is. (Right now my weekend plans consist primarily of football. But also a trip to the apple orchard, breakfast at the French cafe I've been meaning to try down the street, last-minute triathlon training, and lunch with Grandma and Grandpa who are swinging through town on Sunday.) Considering how busy I've been at the clinic (I'm talking 3 new evals and 6 patients of my own yesterday, 2 new evals and 5 patients of my own today, and a heckuva lot of new evals tomorrow...), we'll see how much of that I can stay awake for. 

I also decided to decorate the condo to make it a bit less barren. Look how far thumb tacks, paper clips and hockey laces got me!

So as I sit down to watch the Pack take on the Saints, digesting the Blue Moon and blackened chicken sandwich I treated myself to at Perry Rock Pub after boot camp, I feel the need to go off on a completely unrelated tangent. I was reminiscing with Jess yesterday (if I engage in the act of reminiscing, does that automatically make me old?) about the days at 917 Juniper Avenue in good ol' Northfield. We planned our weeks around Thursday nights, which consisted of Grey's Anatomy, the Office, and typically a Culvers run. While the six of us are all at different points in our lives right now (married, engaged or not, and just finishing school, just starting school, still applying to school, or working in the REAL WORLD), I've always loved how our career choices all revolve around one thing- helping people. I still think we should open a practice together one day. Alina the RN, Kristy the soon-to-be MD, Mac the soon-to-be DDS, me the DPT, Abby with her psych degree/experience, and of course Jess and her soon-to-be vet med degree for our patients' furry friends. Ahh wishful thinking (...or is it?). But what I wouldn't do to go back to Juniper, even for a day. Miss you all mucho. 

Juniper 4 life.