Measured Motion

Tag: cpd

  • Keys, Coffee, Campus

    Last reviewed: 27 September 2025

    First lecture is Monday, 29 September. The days before it have been small and practical: walking the campus until I stop checking the map every corner, finding a coffee spot by the labs that doesn’t taste like ambition and regret, and meeting a handful of the people I’ll be learning with. The nerves and excitement keep swapping places. That feels about right.

    I activated my Chartered Society of Physiotherapy student membership this week and circled the CSP Student Conference at ICC Wales. I like the idea of seeing what students are building now—tiny methods, tidy audits—and using that to tune my own standards. Conferences aren’t magic; they’re a room full of good questions. I’m collecting mine.

    Anatomy-wise, I’ll be honest: I barely touched it this week. Welcome Week and moving in took the oxygen. I chose the social map over the muscle map, and I’m okay with that. It picks up again next week. The aim isn’t trivia; it’s becoming a dependable anatomy hero—small daily reps, clear lines of force, nerves I can say without peeking.

    I also posted on LinkedIn again—second one this week. The first went up on Monday (it was meant for Saturday, but the move won the weekend). Mostly friends and uni people liked it, which was exactly what I needed: proof the world doesn’t end when you press Publish. Today’s one was easier; the noise was quieter. If you’re there and care about neat notes and kinder practice: hello.

    If you’re also a week out and the nerves are loud: walk your campus till it feels smaller, pick a coffee you can stick with, and choose one question to bring to Monday. That’s enough.

    —J

  • Seven days out

    Last reviewed: 23 September 2025

    I’m a week away from starting the MSc and my brain is doing that neat trick where excitement and dread take turns holding the steering wheel. I made my first LinkedIn post today. Hit publish. Stared at the screen like it might explode. It didn’t. A few people reacted and liked it—mostly friends and uni friends, but it eased the nerves.

    The last few days were mostly logistics—moving to Birmingham, finding the kettle, figuring out which key is which. I didn’t do as much as I’d planned, which stung a little. So I kept the pilot light on: quick anatomy reps. I revisited the hip and I’ve started the knee.

    What helped: I said the movements out loud while I drew them. Flexion sounded like a rhythm—iliopsoas, rectus, sartorius—and the word femoral landed as the underline. Abduction felt quieter but clearer once I pictured glute med/min and TFL working together—superior gluteal on repeat. Extension stayed honest when I let glute max lead and the hamstrings follow—inferior gluteal then the tibial side of sciatic. I kept an eye on the short head of biceps femoris, the little rebel that wanders to the common fibular.

    For the knee I’m keeping the anchors simple enough to say without notes: quadriceps with femoral for extension; hamstrings with tibial for flexion; popliteus (tibial) for the unlock. When I get lost, I trace the landmarks—condyles, the trochlear groove, patella, tibial plateau, tuberosity, fibular head—until the picture settles.

    What didn’t help: Treating origins and insertions like a shopping list. The lines make sense first; the labels can come after. Also, long sessions after a moving day were bravado. Five minutes with a pen beat an hour of guilt every time.

    Small truth: I didn’t manage a perfect streak. Some days I drew one angle of the hip and called it a win; other days I could redraw three without peeking. The knee is newer—most landmarks I can place cleanly now, not all. That’s where I’m actually at.

    This week’s aim: Most days: one redraw of hip + knee from memory, one short read (5–10 minutes) that answers a real question, and one neat line here—even if it’s just what went wrong and what I’ll try tomorrow.

    Boundaries, as always: this is educational—not personal medical advice. No patient‑identifiable details. I follow local policies and senior guidance. If I change my mind, I’ll say so and date it here.

    —J

  • Prologue to Practice

    I’m Joshua. In three weeks I walk onto campus for the MSc Physiotherapy (pre‑registration) at the University of Birmingham. I’ve got a First in Sport & Exercise Science, a lot of enthusiasm, and a very human mix of nerves and excitement. This space is where I turn all of that into something useful.

    I’m keeping this blog like a set of field notes in a pocket notebook—short entries, clear thoughts, and the odd diagram when it helps. Some days I’ll write about anatomy I’m revising (right now: learning the hip joint—its muscles and nerve supply). Other days it’ll be what I’m learning about ward craft: how to stay calm, what to screen before you move someone, why language matters when you teach a breath or a bridge. If I talk about research, I’ll link it; if I change my mind, I’ll say why. Simple.

    I don’t want this to read like a manual. Manuals are for when you already know what you’re doing. This is a record of the learning curve—what I tried, what worked, what didn’t, and what I’m going to do next time. I’m writing it publicly because it keeps me honest and might be useful to someone a few steps behind or ahead of me.

    Boundaries are important. This is educational, not personal medical advice. I won’t share patient‑identifiable details, and I’ll always follow local policies and senior guidance. When I write about a study, I’ll keep it in plain English and note the date I last checked the evidence.

    Where I’m starting: anatomy, because clear mental maps make for safer decisions when things get busy. The plan (lightly sketched): sketch the hip from a few angles until I can do it from memory; test myself on movements and prime movers without peeking; then write a short piece that connects the model to practice. Nothing fancy—just repetition and clarity.

    I’m aiming for one short entry a week. If you’re a student, Band 5, or educator with thoughts, I’m all ears. Drop a comment on the Methods & Evidence page or nudge me toward a paper I should read.

    See you after my first anatomy session.

    —J

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