Fitness Zombie’s Journey: Spine Redemption with Chiropractic

The Fitness Zombie’s Take on Chiropractic History

Ughhh… back in the day, around 1895, there was this guy named Daniel David Palmer. He thought, ‘Hmm, what if I just crack someone’s back, maybe they’ll feel better?’ And boom! The first chiropractic adjustment was born. Palmer believed that our bones, especially in the spine, could get all misaligned and mess up how we function—kind of like when my zombie legs stumble over each other and I trip. Palmer’s son, B.J. Palmer, made sure this whole back-cracking idea didn’t die (pun intended). Over the years, it got more legit, and now even non-zombies go to chiropractors when their bones feel out of whack, especially for stuff like back and neck pain.

Skepticism: Zombies and Humans Alike Question Chiropractic Care

Urrggghhh, the humans didn’t always trust chiropractors, though. Some thought they were just making weird, unproven claims, like fixing diseases by cracking backs. I get it—if a zombie told me he could fix my knee by cracking my neck, I’d be skeptical too! Mainstream doctors weren’t buying it at first, thinking it was all a bunch of ‘pseudo-bone-ology.’ Even though nowadays chiropractors mostly stick to helping with pain in our achy bones and muscles, some humans still think it’s a bit… spooky. But hey, when you’ve got a zombie back like mine, any crack that helps is good enough!

The Fitness Zombie’s Spinal Redemption

Lately, my lower back has been giving me grief—mild pain and stiffness that just won’t quit. Every time I try to bend or twist, my spine pops like an old ratchet wrench, and not in the satisfying way. After weeks of dealing with it, I finally decided to get serious and revisit some chiropractic care. First, I had to find a provider that my insurance would cover—nothing worse than an undead bank account. After making the appointment with Dr. Philip Dieter at Almaden Chiropractic & Wellness, my first visit was just an assessment. Dr. Philip poked, prodded, and, of course, ordered some x-rays to figure out just how bad my spine had become.

Now, I’m back for my first real treatment, and they’ve sent me to Room #3. With a slow shuffle, I stumble through the door, glancing around. This place? It’s not your average chiropractor’s office—no, it’s got an eerie vibe, like a twisted blend of modern medicine and a medieval torture chamber. And me? Well, I’m the fitness zombie, here for my spine’s redemption. Let’s see if they can work some magic and get this creaky, decaying frame of mine back into shape.

The Activator Chamber: A Spine-Saving Session for the Fitness Zombie

I shuffle into the first room, I stand up against a currently vertical table, and Dr. Philip walks in with a device that looks like it could belong to some futuristic executioner. He calls it “The Activator.”

He lowers the table and I now lay face down, barely holding my undead body together, wondering how this little thing is supposed to help. No spine twisting? No dramatic cracking? Just a small, spring-loaded tool? Seems too gentle for a zombie like me.

The first tap lands on my lower back. It’s fast, like a reflex hammer tapping your knee. Okay, I think to myself. That wasn’t bad at all. Actually… it kind of feels good. I expect my muscles to stiffen up and fight the treatment—years of shambling around in bad posture has done a number on my flexibility. But this thing is so quick that my zombie body doesn’t even have time to react. Another tap. It’s precise, like the chiropractor’s got a map of my body and knows the exact weak spots to target.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

As he moves up my spine, I can’t help but notice the difference. The pressure I’ve been carrying around—pain, stiffness, all those undead kinks—feels like it’s being released one vertebra at a time. No bending or twisting, just focused, controlled bursts of force.

The Activator hits my neck now, and for a second, I brace myself for the worst. But the quick impulse surprises me. Instead of pain, there’s relief. A weight lifts off me, and suddenly I’m not dragging my head down as much anymore. My posture feels straighter, less “zombie slouch,” more “hey, this could pass for human!”

Dr. Philip checks in after every few taps, making sure my spine is responding. Turns out, being a zombie with poor posture doesn’t mean I’m beyond repair. He moves the Activator over my joints, pinpointing tension in areas I didn’t even realize were locked up.

In a way, it’s almost relaxing—nothing like what I expected when I walked into this chamber. No loud cracks, no dramatic spine adjustments that make you gasp. Just small, calculated, almost imperceptible changes that seem to add up as he works. When it’s over, I stand up, feeling… lighter? Less stiff? For a zombie, that’s saying something. It’s weird, really—I didn’t feel any major, earth-shattering changes, but somehow I’m walking out of the first chamber without the usual groan of pain. I glance back at the table, wondering if this little tool is some kind of miracle for the undead. Maybe this Activator method is exactly what I needed. Time to shuffle over to the next chamber… what’s waiting there, I can only imagine.

The Stretching Table: Flexion Distraction for a Zombie’s Spine

I shuffle into the next chamber, which looks a little less intimidating, but still—there’s a table in the center. Dr. Philip calls it the “Stretching Table,” it’s used for flexion distraction therapy. He motions for me to lie face down, and I comply, still feeling a little lighter from the Activator session. The table hums softly as I settle in. As a zombie, I’m used to a certain level of discomfort, so this feels… oddly nice?

The lower half of the table starts to move, and my legs are slowly pulled down in a rhythmic motion. It’s a gentle stretch, not at all what I expected from a chamber that looks like it could double as a medieval stretching device. My spine begins to loosen up with each motion, like someone is carefully pulling apart a tangled chain. I never knew my zombie vertebrae could feel this… flexible.

As the table does its thing, Dr. Philip adds gentle pressure along my spine, helping stretch my back even further. I’m no stranger to compression—years of slouching, shuffling, and staring down at my zombie feet have done a number on my posture. But here, it’s like someone’s finally giving my body the space to expand, to breathe.

The table pulls my legs down again, and I feel my vertebrae shift, like a sponge soaking up water. He explains that my discs, those spongy, flexible cushions between my bones, are decompressing. Apparently, this is what happens when you sit too much, and, well, shuffling around like I do is almost the same thing. He reminds me of the importance of hydration. Sure, hydration, I think. As long as it’s not another brain smoothie.

I can’t believe it, but it actually feels good. The stiffness in my spine, the constant weight pressing on my zombie nerves, is starting to lift. For a brief moment, I even consider that my posture might improve—maybe I won’t hunch quite so much as I stumble around in the future.

The gentle pull of the table continues, and I start to notice other changes. My range of motion? Better. The tension in my lower back? Easing. Even my neck feels looser, and as a zombie with chronic slouching issues, that’s nothing short of miraculous.

I zone out as Dr. Philip finishes the session, feeling like my body’s been reset. As I get up, it’s almost like I’ve been reanimated a second time, but this time with a properly stretched spine. It’s weird, but I think I’m actually… standing straighter. For a fitness zombie, that’s a win. Time to move on to the next chamber, but I’m already feeling like this “torture” isn’t so bad after all.

The Pro-Adjuster: NASA Tech for a Fitness Zombie’s Spine

The final stop on my undead chiropractic journey isn’t a room at all—it’s just a backward-facing chair in the hallway. Looks innocent enough, but there’s a sleek, computer-controlled device next to it that’s giving me major high-tech vibes. Dr. Philip gestures for me to sit down, facing forward and leaning into the padded support. As I slump down, face-first into the cushion, I can’t help but wonder if this is where they finally “reboot” my spine.

He calls it the Pro-Adjuster, and apparently, it uses the same technology NASA uses to keep space shuttles safe. Alright, I’m listening. My spine probably needs just as much attention as those space shuttles.

I hear a soft tapping as he places the device along my back. It’s not sharp, not jarring—just a gentle, rhythmic vibration. No popping, no dramatic twists or cracks. If I wasn’t paying attention, I’d think it was just someone tapping their fingers along my spine.

The Pro-Adjuster starts scanning each vertebra, measuring how they move, checking for rigid spots that shouldn’t be there. As it moves down my spine, I feel the vibrations targeting specific areas, places where I’m more “zombie stiff” than I realized. Apparently, this thing can tell when my bones are out of alignment faster and more precisely than any manual adjustment. It’s like the chiropractor has a built-in space-age diagnostic tool.

Suddenly, I notice a subtle shift—something loosens up in my back, like a stuck hinge finally giving way. The Pro-Adjuster taps again, and I feel a soft release of tension in my spine. It’s hard to explain, but it’s as if the rigid parts of my zombie posture are melting away, one tiny tap at a time.

There’s no pain, no discomfort—just this strange, controlled feeling of “getting unstuck.” The machine even tells the chiropractor when the adjustment is complete, so there’s no overdoing it. I kind of like that precision—no guesswork here. My stiff, zombie slouch is starting to stand a chance against modern technology. As I rise from the chair, I feel lighter—well, as light as a fitness zombie can feel. My spine, for once, doesn’t feel like it’s been dragging behind me. This whole Pro-Adjuster thing? It’s like having my spine tuned up by NASA tech. Now, on to shamble out of here, feeling more aligned than I have in years.

The Fitness Zombie’s Chiropractic Revival

I committed to 8 sessions, twice a week for four weeks, and now that I’ve dragged myself through the first two weeks, I’m feeling way better—less stiff and a little less undead. I’ll admit, the core training and stretching are helping a lot, but before the chiropractor, those just weren’t cutting it for this fitness zombie. My spine was still stuck in the grave, so to speak. Once my initial sessions are over, I’ll probably sign up for periodic visits to keep things in line. After all, even zombies need maintenance!