It all started with a bizarre allotment-related mishap when my calf just went. I don’t know where it went, but it didn’t hang around. One minute I was strutting around with my shovel, the next I was face-down on the freshly-dug soil with Noel telling me to stop messing about and get up.
When I did get up, it was to limp home and phone the physio. That was just getting sorted when I overdid it with the off-piste skiing and face-planting, straining my glutes, prompting another call to the physio.
Just when I thought I’d finished financing my physio’s world cruise (first class, with balcony, seat at the captain’s table optional extra), I twisted my knee doing (although I say so myself) a rather gnarly step over the roof at the climbing wall. The roof being an overhang which requires a lot of thrutching, grunting and explusions of air. The physio could book her place at the captain’s table after all.
So that was me out of running, climbing and any other activity for what seemed like years, nay decades. And I was very grumpy about it, I can tell you because everywhere there were runners running and enjoying it, dammit. Wherever I turned, the roads, the woods, even the bloody telly. And as most of my friends are runners, climbers or skiiers, my social media feeds were full of pictures of running and medals. And I do love a bit of bling. Ooo, I was vexed.
With all that physio and a certain amount of swearing, my calf returned, my glutes started to function again and my knee twisted back into place. Deep and unbounded joy, it was back to running, or rather fast shuffling, but I’ll take that over no shuffling any time, so off I shuffled.
As I trundled up the road, out came another runner, an older gent, we nodded, in sympathy I thought, as we shuffled off in opposite directions. We must have both looped round as we met again at the bottom of the hill and shared a few words. It turned out he was 77, he’d done a lot of running, but had hurt his knee . He was determined to continue, though and planned to do a half marathon later this year , shuffling probably, but that didn’t bother him one bit. ‘I’m going to run as long as long as I can, I’m running from the care home,’ he said. ‘Good for you,’ I replied, ‘I’m running because I can, and it feels good.’