I Ran a Race. I Won.

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Yesterday I posted a status on my ‘Dr. Ashley Worobec Facebook Page‘ that showed a couple of pictures from my 10k race the day before.

My words were:

“These pictures sum up my weekend, and why I LOVE to run- this is happiness in its truest form. I raced in the 10k Hannukah Hustle in Hamilton on Sunday morning and I won! It wasn’t a big race, and my 43 minutes wasn’t record-breaking, but as 1st female, I even got a bike escort into the finishing chute and got to break through the finish line tape with my daughter in my arms. This first picture shows me stopping to grab her from the wagon (my 5-yr-old son wanted to stay put!) and the second picture shows the post-race bliss (and exhaustion!). Find something you love and throw yourself into it. The benefits will reach far and wide.”

And then I reconsidered, regretted, and thought-twice for a bit.  Should I have put this accomplishment out there, so bravado and look-at-me and I’m-so-great?  That’s not typically my style, not what I’m about, not who I am.  And yet, I really wanted to share this moment with my patients.  That’s the exact purpose for my Dr. Ashley page; a place where my patients can get to know me and what makes me unique in my time outside of the clinic.  It’s where I can share my opinions on topics that I think would be of interest to them- be it fitness, parenting, or healthcare.  I deliberately keep this Page separate from my personal Facebook profile, and that’s the part I’ve been reconsidering; why was I okay with posting this under my professional persona and not my personal?  Answer: because somehow, it seems less show-offy, less girls-shouldn’t-brag, less boastful, and more polite.  Somehow, I’m a degree removed.

All day, I’ve had people congratulating me on the race.  The feedback has been wonderfully huge, and Facebook tells me that almost 2500 people have viewed those pictures.  And yet, I keep downplaying my run, skirting around the compliments, trying to exercise humility after a showy post.  I’ve “aw, shucks”-ed a lot.  “It was just a small race,” I tell people, “I only won because no one fast showed up,” or “I was dying out there.”

Wanna know the truth?

I felt great.  I felt effortless.  I felt invincible.

And it was a small race and none of the super-fasts came to play, but it was still my first win in years, my first bike escort, my first finish-line tape, and the first time my kids saw their mama WIN.  An outright, unequivocal, black-and-white win that they can understand.  They’ve seen me head out into the pre-dawn cold Sunday after Sunday while they stayed in their cozy pj’s.  They’ve heard me huffing and puffing as I pushed all 80lbs of them in the double stroller on my last training run.  They’ve watched me cross off numbers on my training plan and cross off days on the calendar.  And then they saw me win.

I hope they learned that fitness is fun.  I pray they learned to seek out a passion.  I know they learned that if you work hard you get rewarded.

I recently read ‘Carry On, Warrior‘, in which the author, also a blogger, talks about how she has no shame.  She writes, “I’m shameless.  I’m almost ashamed at how little shame I have.”  I can see where she’s going with this.  As my own blog grows, I can feel my filter loosening.  My take-it-or-leave-it growing.  My this-is-me flourishing.

This is me.  I ran a race.  I won.  And I’m damn proud that my kids saw it happen.

Ashley019

“Do you Adjust Children?”

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***This was originally written as a Guest Blog post for Momstown.ca.***

I got asked this question at the gym the other day.  Someone I barely knew, stopped me mid-warmup to ask, “you’re a chiropractor, right?  Do you adjust children?”  And I guess that’s a fair question.  But my “yes I am and yes I do” response was met with a skeptical “wow, I can’t believe that people do that.”  Hmmmm, now how to respond?

I guess I could’ve said that chiropractors are neuro-musculoskeletal (NMSK) specialists; NMSK means nerves, muscles, and joints.  That we’re primary healthcare providers.  That we can diagnose.  That we’ve got 7+ years of post-secondary education.  But that’s too “wordy” for casual conversation.

I could’ve said that I have two young children and regularly check their spines and adjust them as necessary.  Or that they both received their first adjustments within hours of their births.  Or that my son’s neck was so restricted that he would only nurse on one side pre-adjustment.  Or that a lower back/pelvic adjustment is the best laxative I’ve found for them.  Or that my kids “play chiropractor.”  Nah, too “mommy.”

I could’ve said that the birth process is pretty intense and can be traumatic on tiny spines.  I could’ve said that I’ve seen incredible results with colic, constipation, and congenital torticollis in my practice.  I could’ve said that children respond remarkably well and exceptionally fast to treatment.  I could’ve said that we get our children’s teeth, eyes, and ears checked, so why not their spines too?  No, too “clinical”.

I could’ve said that I’ve taken extensive post-graduate studies in pediatric care.  Or that the research supports chiropractic treatment in the pediatric population.  Or that I am thoroughly confident in the safety of everything I do and I must “first, do no harm”.  Nope, too “academic”.

Instead, I said “yes, people do that.  We all do what we think is best for our children.”  Then I finished my workout….. and went home to adjust my kids.

ahh

My Daughter Needs Glasses

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***This post was originally written as a Guest Blog post for Momstown.ca.***

We made a trip to the optometrist last week and were told that my daughter likely needs glasses.  She’s just turned two…. 25-months-old, only a toddler, still my baby girl.  And she needs glasses.  I was floored by this, as I never suspected a problem with her vision and I was simply bringing her in for a routine check-up.  It’s been on my to-do list for far too long, along with dentist appointments and well-baby exams.  But it seems that Spring signals annual appointments around here, and so off to the eye doctor we went.

I’m told that her eyes see very differently, and that we want to give her left eye the best possible chance of developing optimally, for which glasses will help.  She will likely need these glasses throughout her childhood, and perhaps forever, depending on how her vision changes as she grows.  There were lots of lights, lots of lenses, lots of machines, and lots of tests; and more tests will come in a few weeks when we get her ‘double-checked’ before going the glasses route.  But the optometrist was steadfast, thorough, and concise, and told me to prepare for a glasses fitting at the end of April.  So prepare, I shall.

Emotion swirled around me as we left the clinic, and I’ve been struggling to make sense of what I’m feeling.  Sad?  Worried?  Nervous?  In fact, it’s all of the above and then some.  I’m sad for her, as she’ll now need to navigate the world visibly different than her peers- but we will celebrate those differences.  I’m worried about potential teasing and bullying- but we will celebrate self-confidence and self-esteem.  I’m nervous that her vision will worsen- but we will celebrate the vision that she has.

And then perspective shifts and I see how wonderful this news is- wonderful that it’s not worse, wonderful that it’s treatable, wonderful that she’s healthy.  We got an awful cancer scare when she was only a few months old, ironically also involving her eyes, and I have counted my blessings and remembered that dread every day since.  She’s my ‘make-me-worry kid’- she was late to walk, she’s late to talk, and I can only imagine what her room will look like when she’s a teenager.

She’s teaching me new lessons about the big picture.  Hopefully I’m learning.

AshleyW0018