Ouch. OUCH. “That’s really sore!”
Hmmm…try to break through the pain barrier…count the spots on the carpet instead…one…two…thre…”OWWWWW!”
“Ah yes Louise, no pain no gain, huh?!”
Turns out the joy of my 17-mile run was rather short-lived. A nagging ankle injury that refused to budge results in me lying face down trying not to swear while a physiotherapist pokes and prods me.
Now, I’ve been to physios in the past, but this was the real deal – a bone-crunching experience in the most literal sense. Turns out that hours of running and years sitting in front of a computer screen are not the best combinations. In fact they’ve left my muscles tighter than your average Aberdonian (Scottish joke).
So it was I trudged along to my nearest gym for an assessment by the sports physio.
Beefcakes & Baywatch
Gyms are intimidating. Neck-deficient beefcakes stinking of aftershave while pumping weights and girls that wouldn’t be out of place in the slo-mo Baywatch intro. It frightens me. Plus I’m feeling a tad emotional (“Hmmm, nothing new there…” – comforting words from my fiancé). I’m worried that I’ll be told I can’t run the marathon. And that will definitely make me bawl.
After filling in the longest form ever produced, I’m ready to be seen.
“Do you stretch”
“No” (Dear god don’t make me join Beefcake and Baywatch)
“Ok, let’s have a look.”
BFF & Balloons
Henceforth follows the most painful half hour of my life. I never thought I’d stick up for the salary of footballers, but if they go through that then they probably deserve the £100m an hour. I can only describe it as what I imagine childbirth to be like – mothers who are my friends, please just let me live with that illusion and don’t tell me it’s worse than that – then I’ll definitely start crying…
“It will help you – I promise – you will feel like new woman,” physio tells me. Ok. To be fair he’s got a point. My muscles are starting to feel like air that’s been slowly released from a balloon as every sinew squeaks out “thank youuuuu” with helium pitch voice.
Once again, I digress…I am still seeing the physio – in fact he’s now my best friend. I’d even go so far as to say my Best Friend Forever (BFF – see – down with the kids). Until, of course, the next session when his entire weight bears down on my running-weary bones like a human crushing machine.
At that point I’ll feel like deserting him in favour of weight-training with Beefcake and Baywatch. But I’ll just have to keep reminding myself it will be worth it in the long run. The 26.2 mile run.
* I’m running the London Marathon for Prostate Cancer UK, in memory of my grandfather. All donations are very much appreciated. My sponsorship page is: http://www.justgiving.com/Louise-runs-London