And this is my passion, movement.

Leave a comment February 23, 2016 drworobec

I attended a three-day seminar this weekend, taught by Dr. Craig Liebenson, a great thinker and leader in my profession. It was entitled “Prague School to Athletic Development; Functional Assessment and Core Training.” This is core rehabilitation at its finest.

But what really struck me about the course was the passion it brought about in me. Not passion about core rehab necessarily (although I did learn a lot on that front and will certainly be bringing some new and refined tools to my practice life), but rather, passion about movement. I believe in movement. I believe so deeply, so rooted in my fundamental values and understanding and conviction, that we were made to move.

The first topic Dr. Liebenson spoke about was what he called an “Inactivity Crisis.” Society is in the midst of an inactivity crisis, complete with sitting to commute, sitting at work, dropping physical activity levels, soaring obesity and heart disease and back pain. “Use it or lose it,” he said, referring to our body’s movements, and my heart and my mind and every part of me was silently nodding, screaming, jumping “EXACTLY!”

I can’t state it more simply than that. We need to move. And this is my passion, movement.

I plan vacations around outdoor activities. I find a gym in every city I visit. I enter races and competitions because I like the challenge. I would rather go for a walk than watch a movie. My favourite girl’s nights involve a workout. I chose to become a chiropractor because I wanted to work with athletes. I believe so strongly in movement and fitness and physical activity that I’ve centered my whole life around it. Movement is my common thread.

Kids who are more active get better grades. Adults who are more active lower their risk of cardiovascular disease, obesity, and depression. Seniors who are more active have fewer falls, take fewer meds, and have a better quality of life. Movement is a lifestyle, not 30-minutes three-time-a-week. It’s more than that. It’s a choice, a necessity, a responsibility.

I want my body to age well. When my crow’s feet deepen and my skin sags, I want to be able to get myself up off the couch. I want to be able to lift my own groceries and make my own meals and play with my grandchildren. And while movement isn’t the be-all-end-all guarantee that I will get to do these things, it’s a step in the right direction.

So how can I end this post without sounding like I’m ranting? Like I’m pointing a finger, being holier-than-thou, and standing on a soapbox? Perhaps I can’t. Perhaps I’ve already made you uncomfortable, made you introspect, made you think. If so, I’ve done my job. I’ve always said that this blog comes from my genuine, heartfelt beliefs. And I genuinely believe in movement.

“Just a few generations ago, physical activity was a constant part of daily life. Now we’ve done away with it so thoroughly, physical inactivity actually seems normal. The social and economic costs and consequences are unsustainable.” ~designedtomove.org

The End.

But you should watch this video: http://designedtomove.org/.

Magnetic Force Field

Leave a comment February 16, 2016 drworobec

I am convinced that I have a magnetic force field around me. This force field can only be felt by my children. Wherever I go, whatever I do, there they are, right beside me; observing, questioning, chatting, smiling. This has become especially obvious in our new home, as the Master bedroom is on the main floor, just off our primary kitchen/family room living space. It seems that I cannot get dressed by myself, pack my gym bag, fold some laundry, or even use the bathroom without one or two little faces following closely behind me.

My three-year-old daughter has also taken to wandering into our bed halfway through the night, and snuggling up to me so closely that I have to pull back the covers or be cooked from the heat her little body gives off. “Can we snuggle, Mommy?” she’ll whisper to me in her sleep-drunk state. “We are snuggling,” I’ll reply, as she’s pressed up against me head-to-toe. “No, put your arms around me,” she says. And so I cocoon all 35lbs of her, and back to sleep we drift.

I won’t lie to you: there are times that have children constantly underfoot can get a bit overwhelming. Times when I just want five minutes to not have to answer a “why” question or play eye-spy. Times when I would give anything to have a sleep-in or a quiet meal or a movie uninterrupted. But those times are far fewer than the times that I marvel at my children’s dependence on me.

I marvel at their trust, their complete faith, their staggering belief in me.

They are seven and almost-four now. My baby girl starts full-day Kindergarten in the Fall. This chapter of work-part-time-while-the-kids-are-little is nearly over. My daytime focus can soon shift from the kids to the clinic. When I took my foot off the gas of my career seven years ago, I saw this next phase in the far-off distance. And now it’s in my direct sights.

I will take the magnetic force field, while it’s still here. Its power is likely to fade in the very near future, and when it’s gone I know that I will miss it.

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Next time, I’ll do Better.

2 Comments February 9, 2016 drworobec

I was in a situation a few weeks ago that I can’t get out of my head; a situation that I feel guilty about, that I’m disappointed with myself about. And what usually helps is putting pen to paper, or rather fingers to keyboard, and getting it out of the rumination stage and into the take-action stage.

So here goes:

A few Tuesdays ago, my family was driving to swimming lessons. We took two separate cars, as my husband was planning to head directly to the gym after swimming, while I was to take the kids home and put them to bed. The kids chose to ride their with their dad, so I was alone in my car, a very rare occurrence, cozy and comfortable. It was a stormy night, one of the few we’ve had during this mild Winter, with blowing snow and frigid temperatures, combined with mid-January evening darkness. A miserable time to be out, and I was bundled in full Winter gear for the short drive to the pool.

I slowed down as I approached a red light, and noticed three people huddled together at a bus stop sign. There was no bus shelter where they could be protected from the elements, just a bus sign on the side of the road. I made eye contact with the figure whom I presumed to be the mother, and I glanced down at her two young daughters, who were likely in the four to six age range. All three were in snowpants and parkas, scarves and toques, all carrying grocery bags and waiting for the bus to arrive.

I didn’t stop to help. I had two empty carseats, an SUV full of trunk space, and I didn’t stop. Several weeks later, I am still thinking about why on earth I didn’t stop. This was not in my usual character. I could’ve helped, I could’ve brightened their day, I could’ve made a difference. But I chose not to.

Ten seconds later, I phoned my husband through my car’s Bluetooth. “I’m turning around,” I said, “I’m going back to pick up that family I just saw.”

“I saw them too,” he said. “Good idea.”

I turned around. I went back to pick them up. But in the three or four minutes it had taken me to reach that decision, they were gone, likely already on the bus they’d be waiting for. And I’d missed my chance. I’d missed my chance to be the best person I can be. To be the person I want my kids to be. To be the person that I usually am.

I arrived at the pool a few minutes after my family, and explained what happened. I’d lost the opportunity to help, I told them. I wish I would’ve reacted sooner, I told them. Mommy was trying to be a good person, I told them.

But I didn’t try hard enough, and I’m quite honestly beating myself up about it. Now, you can be assured I didn’t write this post to get online approval, or the you-really-are-a-good-person comments, but rather I wrote it because human experience has a learning curve. Here’s a good reminder for us all: if you see a person who needs help, help.

Next time, I’ll do better.