Today I scheduled an emergency visit to the massage therapist because my legs have been aching like crazy for ten days and I finally couldn’t take it another minute. Both legs were achy, antsy, irritable and whiny. I marched them on over to the Elgin Street Massage Therapy Clinic.
“So,” said Kim, “What’s up?”
I launched into a litany of complaints about my legs, but refrained from talking about them like they were badly behaved children. I showed her where they hurt.
“Aha!” said Kim, “Ilio-tibial band.”
I’ve been getting this chronic leg achiness for at least 15 years. It comes and goes. It lasts a few weeks at a time. It demands to be rubbed, but I can never rub hard enough, and the relief only lasts for as long as the rubbing lasts.
And now, suddenly, all that chronic achiness has a name. It is not just achy legs. It has a name! I am inordinately delighted.
I’d heard of ilio-tibial band syndrome, or ITBS, from my running days. It’s a pernicious little syndrome, one that’s difficult to get rid of. If you have to have a running disorder, it isn’t the one you want. On the other hand, if you’re no longer a runner, it’s kind of nice to have a disorder with such a respectable athletic pedigree.
My delight didn’t stop there. No-sir-ee. There was more delight where that came from!
“How long have you had this problem with your legs?” asked Kim.
“Well, about 10 days this time,” I said, “But off and on since I was in my 30s.”
The massage was excellent: therapeutic and pleasurable both.
Afterwards, she asked me how old I was, because when I had said “since I was in my 30s” it made it sound like that was a long time ago. I told her my age and she was very surprised. She said that my muscle strength and tone and the condition of my skin were all ten years younger than my chronological age! AND she said that I had obviously taken good care of myself all my life.
I was thrilled and she was on a roll, so I didn’t tell her about my misspent youth, the drug abuse, the alcohol, the 212,000 cigarettes I’d smoked, the dead cows I’d eaten, the cheap chocolate, the years of sloth.
I just took my ilio-tibial band syndrome and my bright shiny compliment, and stepped out into the sunny fall day on my well-massaged legs. I noticed I had a brand new spring in my step.
I have a similar problem but it starts in my spine.
My spine doesn’t line up with my pelvis properly and needs to be periodically adjusted… if I let it go, it irritates my IT band and I can commisserate… it’s a horrible feeling. This time I let the adjustment go waaaay too long and ended up with a herniated disc… lesson learned…. when it hurts get it take care of…
Ha! I told you you looked like a Spring chicken!!!
Massage therapists should all be given Orders of Canada.
I’m glad to hear that your legs are feeling better. A little massage never hurt anyone
You’ve become so debauched since you turned 50 with the facials and massages and makeovers and hairstylists and champagne and fois gras for breakfast….
Zoom, when you recently revealed you were turning 50, I was surprised. From photos, I would have guessed at least 10 years younger. But your blog also reveals you have a young heart.
Didn’t I tell you, fifty is nifty?
Hug that bright shiny compliment up tight and keep on bouncin’, girl! You are such a delight.
Having a mystery diagnosed finally is like half a weight lifted from shoulders. Curing it, takes care of the rest of the weight though.
wow. therapists are the best.
Valerie, a part of me likes stories in which the moral is “It doesn’t pay to be stoic.”
Woodsy – you were right – although my massage therapist didn’t exactly say I LOOKED like a spring chicken – more like I FELT like one to her trained and experienced hands.
Pearl, I agree. How do we start the ball rolling on that one?
J – I heard of someone who died during a massage once, but it was apparently painless.
XUP – Much of that was during the leadup to 50. But now that you mention it, I think I’m overdue for a haircut and champagne.
THank you Abby, and yes, you did say so and I confess to not believing you, but you were right. I like everything about 50 except SAYING it.
Thank you Gayle, that’s nice of you to say.
Saskboy, I imagine in many cases the diagnosis is a mixed blessing, or a double-edged sword.
Raino – do you go?