The Knights Who Say Knee

In case you're wondering, my lower back is doing rather well. I had no end of trouble and pain with it while I was in Canada, but after visiting the excellent folks at Milton Physiotherapy in Brisbane and getting myself on a core strengthening program, things are pretty fabulous. I have no problem at all trading ten minutes' exercise each morning for waves of crippling back pain. This is a very good deal, and I highly recommend it.

After the pain went away, I was free to start exercising again, which meant lots of RPM classes. I lost nearly 20 pounds, and was feeling generally terrific and pleased with myself, until things went south once again at the start of December. It was my knee this time - probably stirred up by my radical re-entry into the world of gyms, exercise and taut lycra. Once again I toddled along to the physio, and once again I was poked, prodded, massaged, stretched, kneaded and blessed by a cabal of voodoo priests. Finally I was xrayed and MRIed, to see if anything was really really really wrong, and the quick answer is that my knee is structurally sound. Well, sort of. Maybe. There's something there, because it's still sore, but whether it's quad tendonitis, some calcite burr deep in my knee socket, or a Fenarian gypsy curse, no-one can be sure.

Although I've developed significant reserves of patience during my lumbar adventures, my trust levels are a little low. I saw three different physiotherapists in Canada, and none of them were much good. This has trained me to be skeptical of even the most highly-qualified and professional advice, and this really isn't a good thing. When my MRI is viewed by one of the best radiographers in Australia, and my sports doctor (who works with the Waratahs and assisted on Mark Philippoussis's recent knee surgery) agrees with his analysis, and my physio agrees as well, and I still decide that I know better, it's time for some personal attitude adjustment.