Forward progress and I feel like I am moving my body again which feels really good.
First my therapist took off the brace and examined my knee. He also felt for where the soreness was and I was happy to tell him when it was painful...
Next he examined my knee for range of motion and showed me the exercises that he wants me doing on a daily basis...
I also need to ice the knee 4-5 times a day (10-15 min) in addition to using the CPM machine at home. I definitely won't be bored :)
So, April is almost over and it's National Poetry Month! I found some interesting poems about running that I thought you would enjoy reading...
Running - Poem by Raymond A. Foss
She was running this morning
early Sunday morning
while we drove by on the way to church
black top, black shorts,
once white running shoes
toned features,
purposeful face,
black bands on her biceps
hair bouncing in the breeze
It seemed she was arguing
with herself, the way her head
jerked from side to side,
her face grimaced
with the footfalls down the hill,
off the bridge, like she was debating
and losing the point
propelled on, downward
by gravity, by the flow of the sidewalk,
as she was running this morning
Whatever joy led her to the work,
catching the beauty of the morning,
freedom from other cares,
they were lost, in the puffing,
the contorting, the hurtling
down the hill by the river
Running was the only thing,
the only thing left.
early Sunday morning
while we drove by on the way to church
black top, black shorts,
once white running shoes
toned features,
purposeful face,
black bands on her biceps
hair bouncing in the breeze
It seemed she was arguing
with herself, the way her head
jerked from side to side,
her face grimaced
with the footfalls down the hill,
off the bridge, like she was debating
and losing the point
propelled on, downward
by gravity, by the flow of the sidewalk,
as she was running this morning
Whatever joy led her to the work,
catching the beauty of the morning,
freedom from other cares,
they were lost, in the puffing,
the contorting, the hurtling
down the hill by the river
Running was the only thing,
the only thing left.
Running The Race - Poem by Cynthia BuhainBaello
Living life is like running a race
You have to go on and live each day
With courage and hope no matter what you face
Whatever the seasons that may come your way.
Life is a marathon as you keep on running
Each step is a choice and a gamble
The future is uncertain yet you keep going
The risks are many and sometimes you stumble.
But with family and friends by your side
You find strength to do it and go on
Running the race with God as your Guide
You find the finish line is there and you have won!
You have to go on and live each day
With courage and hope no matter what you face
Whatever the seasons that may come your way.
Life is a marathon as you keep on running
Each step is a choice and a gamble
The future is uncertain yet you keep going
The risks are many and sometimes you stumble.
But with family and friends by your side
You find strength to do it and go on
Running the race with God as your Guide
You find the finish line is there and you have won!
The Song Of The Ungirt Runners - Poem by Charles
Hamilton Sorley
We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.
The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
Does the tearing tempest pause?
Do the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
'Neath the big bare sky.
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.
The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
Does the tearing tempest pause?
Do the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
'Neath the big bare sky.
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.
National Poem in Your Pocket Day is Thursday April 30th. The idea is
you choose a poem, write it down and carry it in your pocket. Anytime during
that day you can pull out your poem and share it with your family and friends!
How wonderful is that?
Do you have a favorite poet? Who is it?
Walt Whitman.
If you could read a poem to anyone, who would it be?
I would read one to my kiddos - they would love it!
Happiness Is Running Life!
xo,
Natalie
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