Is My Height Worth Fighting Over?

I almost got into fisticuffs with someone the other day regarding my height.

Okay, fisticuffs are an exaggeration. I haven’t ever participated in a true, punch-throwing fight. Once in my youth I jumped on top of a guy who was trying to hurt a co-worker of mine and I tried to choke him out. It was fifteen years ago and seemed like the best option at that moment. After the incident (which lasted ten seconds) my co-worker said, “I’ve never seen anyone use a strangle move before.” I must have appropriated that technique from all of the 1980s buddy cop movies I watched as a child. I haven’t been in a fight before or since.

While I am capable of getting charged with anger, I don’t let other people bug me to the point where I need to separate their nose from their face. It’s too much energy. Also, I don’t want to know what the inside of a bail bondsman’s office looks like. I’m guessing stained shag carpeting with a heavy stench of stale Merits.

To prove of how cool under pressure I maintain, I offer this anecdote. Just yesterday while driving to the vet I looked over and a guy was flipping me the bird. Instinct took over and I belly laughed. I don’t know why he was upset since I drive like an old lady, but somehow I had offended his sensibilities. My laughing agitated him and he intensified the speed of his finger-wagging. This made me laugh harder.

But I did find myself ruffled this past Friday at the orthopedic office.

For the first time in my 39 years I have a body ache. Somehow I made it this far in life without a broken bone or dislocated rotator cuff. I’ve never had back pain, tennis elbow or shin splints.

When I’m at the gym and the trainer has me doing the ultra-manly standing squats and lunges, every so often my left knee hurts. It’s uncommon but when it comes I have to stop the exercise. Since I pay good money for health insurance, I booked a consultation with a knee specialist. My personal trainer, no joke, suggested it was all in my head and not real. I didn’t get upset with him because he’s kind of a dummy. He suggested, “Maybe you got a placebo going on. You know, in your head.” I didn’t have the heart to correct him on the definition of “placebo.”

At the orthopedic’s office, before the exam room, a technician was assigned to check my height, weight, and blood pressure. I had to stand on a scale and a measurement thing lowered onto to my head.

Okay, you’re 5’11”.

Wait, did you say 5’11”?

Yes.

Oh, that’s wrong. I’m 6’2″.

That’s not what the scale says. [Points to screen] 5’11”.

Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m 6’2″.

Do you want to have the machine test you again?

Sure, unless it is going to show 5’11”. Because then we’ll be right back here and I’ll be telling you I’m 6’2″.

[Points again at screen]

Okay, let’s give the machine another chance at doing its only job. [I step back on scale]

Oh, you’re 6’1″.

No, I’m 6’2″, actually just a few millimeters shy of 6’3″, but in the interest of compromise I’ll go with 6’1″.

[Blank stare]

—

Next he tested blood pressure and I scored a 190/94. That’s high and I’ve never in my life measured anything outside of normal range. It’s possible this was an accurate reading since I was reeling from the height debate I had just lost. I learned that when someone challenges a fact about myself, I do not handle it well. I would bet that my frustration notched up the blood pressure reading a few points. I’m not sure what scam the tech thought I was attempting to pull. I’ve heard women tell me that men lie about their height on dating profile websites, so maybe he thought I was gay and flirting? If I was into orthopedic-male-height-and-weight-techs-with-scary-tattoos-behind-their-right-ear, maybe he’d have a point.

Later in the exam room I joked with the doctors about what happened. I made it a point to make it seem funny because I didn’t want to get the tech in trouble or make him look incompetent to his bosses. I mean, he is incompetent, but everyone needs to earn a living. But I also didn’t want the chart to be wrong. I mentioned that since the machine was off on my height, maybe my blood pressure reading wasn’t accurate either.

They remeasured the blood pressure and this time it was a perfect 180/20. Regarding my pain it turns out I have something called Runner’s Knee. This would be a badge of honor if I placed in Ironman competitions. It’s less cool since I run only three miles on a treadmill twice a week. It’s fixable, however. I have to strengthen a few muscles around the knee and even a tiny muscle in my rear end. They scheduled me for some PT sessions where I can learn the exercises and bring them back to my trainer.

Later that day at the gym I attempted to tell my trainer about the meeting with the doctors. I believe he was offended because he cut me off with, “I could have told you all that. I’ve been training you a year, so I know what is going on with you.” It’s an odd choice to get defensive over getting some x-rays and talking to a doctor, but again, he’s dopey. Maybe he felt I was blaming him or something – which is insane because I never blame him. My trainer got fired a few years ago for threatening to beat up a client in the gym. Then, he filed a suit against the gym and they gave him his job back. This is not rumor or exaggeration. This is the exact story he told me on our second ever training session. Since then I have been very careful to agree with everything he says.

“Yeah, I know you know more than those doctors, but I just wanted to make get the x-ray, make sure I didn’t have arthritis. Or the placebo.”

photo credit: TRX Personal Trainer via photopin (license)