Look, I've had two children (one c-section, one forceps delivery), a variety of undignified and painful gynaecological procedures and rapid onset appendicitis a couple of years ago. In the scheme of things, I thought the pain in my ankle was relatively minor; it didn't require gas and air, a spinal block or morphine, how bad could it be? But guess what happened the minute the man in the white coat said, "That must really hurt, it's your bone you know?" Suddenly, I was really in pain! I'd muddled through main-lining Ibuprofen on what I imagined was a bit of soft tissue damage. I hated the feeling that my bones couldn't cope with a tiny amount of exercise. I felt old, and vulnerable. Dreams of crumbling architecture began to haunt me.
He told me to come back in four weeks for a further assessment and to weight bear as little as possible. Swimming should be okay, he said. It wasn't. It hurt and the next day it hurt more. I retreated to my lair to lick my wounds and, to be honest, I've been sulking. I didn't want to read positive, life affirming, tweets or motivational guff. I didn't want to hear that anyone was feeling "pumped". I was on the verge of being very rude to a great deal of people. That sneering goblin in my head set off with "What do you think you're doing? You can't do this. The fit girls don't want you! You're too old, it's too late, no one wants you on this team. Give up!"
Things have changed though. If I was on my own with this, the goblin would have won by now. I'm half way through the four weeks and the fit girls have started to ask where I am and if I'm okay and what I'm up to. They've been inviting me to join them for bike rides and dancing and trips to the gym. And I feel like an ungrateful brat. My ankle is a lot better, thanks. I can walk normally again but the occasional sharp jolt up the side of my leg makes me think of splitting bones and my panic and insecurity rise. If it turns out that this is an on-going problem and running is not for me, I'll be sad. I liked being outside; I liked being able to step out of my door and go off when I liked. I liked that it was free! But if it's not for me, so be it. I will find something that is, eventually.
I few weeks ago I met Claire Lomas, the lady who lit the Paralympic Cauldron and who walked the London Marathon in seventeen days using a robotic suit. My self pity does rather fade into insignificance, doesn't it? I will do the Race for Life even if I have to walk the thing on my own two perfectly serviceable legs. Who cares how you get there? Just get there.
