12/25/2024
A “Centre for Sport” Christmas Eve
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the clinic,
Not a foam roller rolled, not a band stretch-specific.
The kettlebells rested, the tape rolls were neat,
While visions of ice packs danced under each seat.
The treadmills were silent, no patients in sight,
The squat rack stood empty, its weights tucked in tight.
Jason in his office, with forms in a stack,
Had just wrapped the year up with a loud “CRACK!”
When out in reception there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the physio bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the front desk I hobbled in stride,
Careful not to pull a hamstring on the side.
The moon on the tape rolls and BOSU balls aglow,
Gave the luster of sweatbands to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a patient on crutches and holiday cheer!
He hobbled and grinned, his gait full of flair,
I knew in a moment it was St. Repair!
More rapid than sprints, his jokes, they just came,
And he whistled and shouted, calling physios by name:
“Now Tuan! Now Jason! Now rehab sensation!
On needling! On stretching! On ankle rotation!
To the top of the stairs, to the balance board’s call,
Now dash away, dash away, don’t slip and fall!”
As wobble boards shake when stability’s tried,
He laughed as he balanced, with foam rollers nearby.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the mat,
The unmistakable sound of a stretch-band snap!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Taping an ankle with a confident smirk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He nodded and said, “Keep those glutes in their pose!”
He sprang to his crutches, to his sleigh gave a whistle,
And away he zoomed faster than a soft-tissue missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy healing to all, and to all a pain-free night!”