Yet another heat wave has made physiotherapy much more pleasant: I learned that I don’t have to take my pants off if I don’t wear much in the way of pants in the first place. This has made me around 95% more comfortable. The other 5% were taken care of by Mr. Adorable’s adorable Austrian pronunciation – a pleasant difference to most of my Swiss compatriots, who sound like they are slightly congested and dying of bronchitis.
Mr. Adorable was a bit taken aback by my ballet disaster last week, but didn’t seem too bothered. I take this to be a good sign. He did ask me to demonstrate some of the ballet moves that I had trouble with, so I showed him a grand plié in first, a passé and a piqué, at which he expressed what I presume to be awe tinged with disapproval. The word he used to express this was «arg» – a lovely, quaint expression that I haven’t heard in conversation in a while. In this context, I would translate it as «intense».
He later tried to repeat one of the moves – a pique – which was hilarious. (To be fair my first ever pique was probably worse.) Since the massage helped me so well last time, he did it again. This kind of therapeutic massage is not relaxing, by the way. The motto of all physiotherapists I’ve ever been to was «Oh, does this hurt? Good, let me press harder.» Mr. Adorable accompanies this with a particularly evil grin.
Exercises are also back on the menu: apparently, tendon overuse injuries do not heal well when just left alone. I have to do three sets of thirty leg raises daily and see how it goes.
Have you ever shown ballet moves to the uninitiated only to have them realise it’s more difficult than it looks?