Thank You God, For Dr. Mary and My MBTs

I can run again.

Two years ago last January, I went out for a walk and got as far as my neighbor's lawn before the pain in my hip was so bad that I sat down on her front lawn and cried in frustration. A colleague at work had been suggesting I go see her chiropractor, Dr. Mary Reimer. The word "chiropractic treatment"' had previously been synonymous with the words "hooey," "mumbo-jumbo," and "horse pucky" in the various circles in which I travel, but desperation and hope have an odd way of trumping skepticism, so I went.

On an intellectual level, I tip-toed through the first few appointments. There was indeed much about the whole experience that explained why my more Descartes-inclined acquaintances shunned the possibility that chiropractic healing had any ground in science. The words "touchy-feely" hardly begin to cover it, from the first phone interaction ("It's a Fantastic Friday! Athena speaking...") through the "healing hug" at the conclusion of the treatment. The language used to describe what was happening to my spine and other joints was suspicious as well: "Let's release that healing energy!" just didn't fit in my framework of what counted as legitimate medical intervention. Even the nomenclature jangled my nerves. "Dr. Mary can see you in Well Being [the name of one of the treatment rooms]" made me feel like I was in a hair salon: "Mr. Larry to the front, please." And there were times along the way when the whole process when I seemed to be getting worse, not better, as I would find one joint or location in my back on the mend at the expense of another bit going out of whack.

However, I started to get better. I still don't understand how it works, and I don't need to. It feels touchy-feely because it is exactly that: healing through well-informed and skillful touching, with feeling. Chiropractic treatment doesn't need to conform to my paradigm of medical intervention because it isn't medical intervention. As far as I do understand it, both through conversation with Dr. Reimer, my own research, but most importantly, through witnessing what happened in my own body, the chiropractic approach aims to remind your body of what it already knows: that it is "fearfully and wonderfully made," and that in many (not all, I know) situations, it already contains all the knowledge necessary to put itself at right. And apparently, that "putting to right" process is just that: a process that ebbs and flows as all the bits get themselves sorted out. It can take time and appear to be three steps forward, two steps back at times. But two years later, I am running again.

Yes, I have to do it in shoes that "real" runners insist can't be run in. But my MBTs ("Masai Barefoot Technology") permit my wonky ankles to rotate fully just like normal folk. They are ugly as mud and have all the sex appeal of orthopedic ski boots, but in the words of my dear Mom, je ne give a shit pas. Anyway, I figure I look better lumbering down the street in my clod-hoppers with my hair blowing in the wind than I would 20 lbs heavier sitting on my couch in Manolo Blahniks, watching "What Not To Wear." They work with my body, so thank you, God, for my ugly shoes.

And thank you for Athena, and for Morgan, the massage therapist with the miracle hands, and for Dr. Mary. As long as I can keep running, she can call herself whatever she darn well pleases.