Private Practice

Deborah gets the mat pulled out from under her when a physiotherapist disapproves of her regular morning yoga sessions

I went to see a physiotherapist for the first time ever. I’m not even quite sure why. Maybe it was because I love seeing my psychotherapist and there are only a few letters difference? Anyway, somehow it had got on the list of maintenance for a woman of my age (51) along with those other grudge tasks like the mammogram clinic and facial hair removal.

I wished I hadn’t.

The physio asked me about my health. He did a bad smell face when I said I did yoga almost every day. “I’m not a fan of yoga.” (Did you know it is inadvisable to make your hamstrings more flexible if your lumbar strength is not sufficient? You’re welcome.) It was perverse of me to volunteer that I also used to do regular pump classes with weights. That got an even worse moue of disapproval and I don’t know what possessed me to add that sometimes I went running. I thought he might have a heart attack. He admonished me: “Don’t do that! You’ll injure yourself!” (For some reason I remember him saying, “Zut alors!” but I might have imagined that.)

The next day I noticed that in the wake of the physiotherapist’s look of disapproval I now felt quite unmotivated about my daily yoga fix. I used to look forward to rolling out my yoga mat. What had happened? All I did was tell the physio about it and now I felt like simply getting in downward facing dog was downright risky and irresponsible.