06/07/2025
"The Kinesiologist’s Lament (and a Handy Survival Guide)"
by a sympathetic poet with no deltoid dysfunction
I trained for years, I learned the test,
My muscle checks are simply best!
But still—no clients fill my book,
Though I post my reels with every look.
I’ve pouted, posed, and twirled on screen,
My fascia’s flawless, joints all lean,
But Instagram just mocks my plight—
Two likes, one bot, and spam each night.
I hashtagged: ,
, and —
Yet still I sit, my schedule bare,
Just me and one confused armchair.
Then came a thought, so bold and grand,
"Perhaps I need to leave Instagram-land?"
So I got out there, gave a talk,
At yoga groups and health club walks.
I taught some moves to dodgy backs,
Did demos at the library stacks,
At garden clubs and Zumba meets,
I bravely faced folding chair seats.
I wowed the WI with knees,
And sorted out a Scout’s trapeze.
I even did a village fête—
(They paid in jam, but hey—still great.)
Each talk brought more to test and try,
More folks who asked, “Could you fix my thigh?”
And teaching layfolk just a bit,
Helped them to trust my healing kit.
So here’s the moral, bold and clear:
Don’t wait for clients to appear.
Go find them where they live and play—
It’s old-school, yes, but earns your pay.
Forget the ‘Gram with all its gloss,
Your path to thriving isn't floss.
Just speak, connect, and share your skill,
And soon you’ll have a full refill!
