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Say No to Crack

March 24, 2011

I don’t know if it’s global warming, or just a ridiculous about of chiropractic care and massage therapy, but over the past few months the Muscle Knot Glacier in my shoulders has begun breaking up.  This is great in terms of reduced aching and increased mobility, both of which I guess are nice goals and all, but there are now little pebble-sized icebergs of superknot distributed throughout my neck and rotator cuff. Or perhaps someone spilled a box of ball bearings in my shoulder girdle.  There’s a world of possibilities out there, and I’m no diagnostician, so I can’t rule anything out.

All I know is that these things are tiny and rock-hard, and are inconveniently located in smaller muscles that hurt more when the pack of wild therapeutic wolverines descends upon me to tear them up (that would be Dr Roughhouse, DC, Dr Yoga, DC, and Evil Genius, LMT, specifically). Oh, and my neck makes noises now.  A lot of them.  I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time lately rolling my neck like a slow-motion gyroscope, searching for the perfect click or crack or crunch.  I’ve also begun cracking my neck in a motion that frightens even me, as if a Ghost Chiropractor (don’t you steal my idea for a really crappy melodramatic TV series, USA network!) crept up behind me and unexpectedly cracked my neck.

I recognize that back-alley C1 adjustments are probably a terrible idea.  I realize that I look like a disturbed person twitching my neck violently as I peruse the organic yogurt selection at the grocery store. I know that noise is gross.  And I’m pretty sure none if it is good for my long term spinal health.  Still, I decided enough was enough just the other day when, as my yoga teacher gave me a big squish in my post-urdvha danurasana paschimottonasana, I switched my head and cracked my neck.  Loudly.  Grotesquely.  With another human touching my spine.  I might as well have been touching myself in my bathing suit area in class; one should never subject an innocent to such self-indulgence.

So now I am on a strict regimen of auto-chastisement whenever I indulge in this dirty little almost-pleasure, adding it to the ever growing list of Rules I’ve Made in 2011 in an Effort to Parent Myself:

  • You will apologize every time you’re mean to someone who didn’t deserve it.
  • You will not put the spoon back in the peanut butter after surreptitiously eating a spoonful straight from the jar.
  • You will not hide cheese from Boyfriend; you will instead ask him kindly not to eat all your brie.
  • You will stop crossing your legs under your desk at work.
  • You will stop cracking your neck.

It’s going to be a long year.

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