Gimpy Cupid Strikes Again!

Out of curiosity, is it wrong to flirt with one's doctor? What if your intentions are pure?

I had a first time appointment with my Sports Medicine physician today, who I had researched extensively based on first availability. I finally broke down and made the appointment after realizing my knee problems weren't going away on their own and crossing my legs is one of the most painful things I do these days.

After a visit to Radiology, I finally met my new doctor. I liked him immediately. He asked some questions, I answered, showing him where my assorted aches and pains resided--under my black jeans obviously. I told him about my training, what mileage brought the pain, what my future training goals were. He took some notes, asked some follow-ups and asked me to stand up and take off my shoes. I looked at him in confusion and ask if he really wanted me barefoot (he did).

Up to this point, I had been relatively successful maintaining some level of dignity and not acting beneath my age. As I took off my shoes, I apologized and told him that my pen had exploded last night and I hadn't noticed all the blue spots I had given myself. Although, I had showered and tried to get rid of the spots. "So, for the record, I'm clean but spotty." As I said those last words, I knew I was no longer the dignified potential athlete, but my usual less than impressive self. He chuckled and commented on the dangers of ink attacks.

Eventually, I got on the bed and he felt my legs, checked my x-rays and said I have beautiful ankles. My knees however, are trying to run away from me. He showed me what normal knees look like, and where my knees and surrounding muscles were doing their best to escape. This causes a lot of stress on them when you're running in one direction and they are trying to run in another. They pull on IT bands that make crossing one's legs almost impossible.

Then he dropped the real bomb: "If you look here", as he looked evenly my legs, "you'll notice that your right leg is a little more than an eighth of an inch longer than your left leg--which will make your body adjust and put more..."

By now I was laughing so hard, my whole body was shaking. "How can you tell me I'm lop-sided with a straight face?"

"Oh, in this line of work you realize every body is truly unique."

I started flirting with him because he struck the right tone. And he laughed at my comments, actually said I was funny complimented my x-ray ankles again. Compliments AND appreciating my sense of humor? All that was missing was a British accent.

Did I mention he was gay? You didn't think I was actually flirting with him for me, did you? And you know that by flirting, I meant I was just more charming than I usually am to doctors who I don't trust any further than I can throw them, right? (As a side note, I would like to gather some of my past physicians and see how far I could throw them--as a scientific experiment of sorts.) It just occurred to me that a nice doctor would be the perfect potential boyfriend for my best friend who eventually owes me a wedding.

By the time I left his office, I had learned where Dr. Peter was from, what his Thanksgiving weekend plans were and that he was a competitive swimmer for many years and couldn't dream of running long distances. He never implied anything about a spouse/partner, nor was he wearing a ring. Now I'm slated for some physical therapy and have been instructed to put off another half marathon for at least 6-8 months and fill my time with 5-10ks. Of course, if my injuries don't get any better, I'll have to go back and see the nice doctor. With my best friend.