Gym’ll fix it

It’s at least 3 months since I quoted this Twainism, so it must be time for a reprise: If you always do what you always did, you’ll always get what you always got.

It dropped into my head again early Monday evening, as I pulled up sharply, clutching my left calf.

The annoyingly whiney voice that accompanies hindsight tells me that this was an ill-advised jaunt. At the time,  I spied no danger; just a pleasing excess of enthusiasm. After another strenuous spin class early in the morning, I must have been feeling a bit too self-congratulatory, and lined myself up for a further 4 mile plod later in the day.

And a lovely evening it was too, with an unexpected burst of warmth after a fortnight of what the forecasters call ‘changeable’ weather: a euphemism for blustery dampness. Still, after a couple of hot and sunny months, it was welcome. The garden and  pond are looking particularly grateful.

Two miles into my run-walk regime, I suddenly felt a familiar tightening in my left calf. Within 5 seconds it had sent the message through every sinew and capillary in my lower leg, reducing me to a painful limp.

With a day or two to digest the experience, it turns out to be the same as ever: not a ‘serious’ injury per se. Not a tear or a pull; just a fairly mild strain.

But.

But I’ve been here before. Several times. Six months after I last ran, and last strained a calf, I run again, and again strain a calf. The surprise wasn’t that it happened again. The surprise was thinking it wouldn’t happen again, given that I’ve not attended to the things I was recommended to do —  core strengthening.

So that’s it. That’s what I must now do, 6 months after I should have done it. Gym ball, medicine ball, and twisty turny stuff. That’s the new menu. Along with continuing to shed weight. The renewed campaign of ballast disposal went very well for a week, then stalled for a few days, but now seems to be back on track. At least I can continue spinning and cycling, and anything else aerobic that doesn’t involve pounding up and down on my ankles.

I want to feel disappointed and angry with the running gods, but I can’t. It’s not their fault this time. Instead, it’s mild self-reproach, but even that is pointless. I’m glad to have a ready-made plan of action, and the right mindset. As far as my revival goes, it’s been a double-dip recession, but this is the real thing. I know it when I see it. This isn’t going to derail me, and send me to the pub or the Chinese takeaway: my usual consolations.

One good thing about the calf problem is that it never lasts long. Even though I know it would happen again if I went out for a plod again today, already, just 40 hours in, it no longer hurts enough to fail the acid test of comfortably using the stairs.

It still ached a little yesterday, but didn’t prevent me popping out for a 17 mile evening bike ride around the lanes and along the canal towpath: my longest bike trip in years. The motivation wasn’t just a fitness top-up. There’s an increasingly realistic possibility that on the first weekend in October, I will be press-ganged into joining a masochistic group of cyclists led by my mate Ricky, in a celebratory journey along the bicentenary Kennet & Avon Canal.

The only drawback to this otherwise agreeable outing is that the proposed trip is 85 miles long, from Bath to Reading. Admittedly,  the ride extends over 2 days, but still, I’m seriously undertrained for such a venture. Part of me knows it’s a foolish idea, while another, louder bit, thinks it will be an interesting new challenge.

And every new challenge is a firm riposte to the Twain sentiment, which so neatly describes the Micawber trap so many of us fall into: “Something will turn up”.  If you’re lucky, that strategy (or lack of strategy) can work for a while, but eventually you get found out. This week, I got found out.