This isn’t the version you usually hear

One morning, the right ankle began to hurt.
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It wasn’t dramatic.
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It hadn’t been an issue for quite some time.
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And there was no clear explanation for why it suddenly decided to speak up.
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Nothing obvious had happened the day before. No misstep. No injury that stood out. And yet, there it was—a familiar signal radiating through the ankle, carrying a message that felt both subtle and insistent.
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The sensation wasn’t new.
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Years ago—many years ago—this same ankle had shared something similar. The quality of the pain was recognizable. The essence of it was the same. But this time, there was something different. Something deeper. The muscles along the outside of the ankle felt involved, as though they were trying to do a job that wasn’t entirely theirs.
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Imaging followed.
X-rays.
Bone scans.
Ultrasounds.
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Eventually, it was confirmed: a soft tissue injury. A tear in the tendon. How long it had been there wasn’t clear. What became clearer, though, was that this wasn’t the full story.
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There was more.
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The ankle lacked support—not because of weakness or lack of effort, but because a ligament was no longer doing its job. In fact, it was completely torn. The structure that once held the lower leg bone securely to the ankle bone was no longer present in the way it was designed to be.
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The joint itself had changed.​
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And the foot was doing what bodies do best when something is off—it was sending signals.
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Looking back, there had been clues. Multiple falls over the past 18 months. A sense of instability that didn’t fully register as a structural issue at the time. Those moments didn’t immediately translate into understanding. It took time for the message to become clear.
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This ankle had been injured before—back in the early 2000s—and it had healed. Life went on. Movement returned to normal. But this was different. Even after months of doing “all the right things,” the pain lingered.
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Eventually, it became clear: this joint would not return to the way it once was.
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And that realization brought something unexpected—not fear, but clarity.
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What mattered most wasn’t the diagnosis itself.
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It was learning how to listen.​
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To notice what my ankle was sharing in real time:

• Does this feel supportive?
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• Does the sensation increase or soften?
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• How much load feels appropriate today?
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• Can I walk downstairs without pain?
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• What does this joint need right now?
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Movement became a way to invite stability. Support tools became part of the strategy—not as a failure, but as information. And my ankle, in turn, began sharing insights about the rest of the body.
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The right hip is tight.
The right low back is holding tension.
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One kinetic chain. One conversation.
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This is a skill that can be cultivated: learning to hear the whispers so we don’t have to listen to the screams.
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And while I don’t always get it right—there was a time with my ankle when I couldn’t walk, and I didn’t listen—this practice of awareness is exactly what I teach my clients.
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Whether in one-on-one Movement Momentum sessions or in Movement Rx, the work is the same: learning to tune into sensation, recognize what matters, and build confidence from that knowing.
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So am I worried about my right ankle?
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Not really.
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Because I’m listening now.
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Are you ready to listen to what your body is telling you? Join me in Movement Rx starting February 3.
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Stay well and happy moving,
Lisa
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P.S. Movement Rx is capped at 12 people. If you’ve been considering it, now is the time to join.