19.04.2025 – Sick and tired, but getting better

Nearly four weeks since my calf pinged while out on a carefree seafront jog, and the light at the end of the tunnel is still only a faint flicker. Last week began with me thinking I’m all sorted now, and ready for a relaunch. So on the Tuesday, I opted to explore the Cuckoo Trail, a local path converted from a disused railway line, a victim of the Beeching Axe, and now part of the Sustrans cycle network. After a half mile of determined striding I exploded into the gentlest of jogs, and a bit further on, a more purposeful run-type movement. All was going swimmingly. This is the life, I thought. Which, naturally, was the point at which I started to sense the slightest of twinges in the calf, and decided to stop.

Four days on, with plenty of calf raises and stretches thrown in, and it was time for another test, this time on a warm but damp seafront. The plan was a simple 3-minute run, 3-minute walk pattern. I didn’t even make it to the end of the first three minute run before the familiar stabbing sensation in the middle of the calf reappeared. Time to stop messing about, I realised. Time to find a better plan than the current one — which didn’t actually exist. Time to deal with the cause rather than the symptoms.

And so, finally, on Thursday this week I went to see a local physiotherapist for the first of my six appointments. I offered her encouragement, reassurance, and a few tips as she got to grips with her new Apple MacBook, and she did likewise with my calf injury. The interrogation and leg-grasping went on for well over an hour. I even managed to keep a straight face when she asked, “Do you experience morning stiffness?”

There was much prodding and pummelling but she wasn’t able to make me exclaim with pain until her roving hands reached my right hip. And apparently that’s the key to my problems. There’s nothing really wrong with my calf, she explained. The issue is my hip. It’s weaker on my right side, and that puts extra pressure on my lower leg. So the key to fixing my calf is to fix my hip. It makes sense. It’s well understood that issues in the body’s southern regions or midlands can manifest as problems at some remote extremity.

I’ve been prescribed a sheet of nine exercises to strengthen my right hip, which I’m supposed to carry out every day, though not necessarily all in one session. In fact, I’ve been told not to attempt to do that. I don’t have a strong history of being able to adhere to a regular daily exercise programme but I need to do this, to reduce the chances of this becoming a permanent obstacle in my attempt to get back to a life of recreational jogging, regular 5K Parkruns and the odd 10K or two. Updates to come.

In other news…
The other recent health concern was a very unpleasant 4-day bout of sickness earlier this week. Vomiting, diarrhoea, dizziness… Although the consequences seemed to merit it, the cause wasn’t some exotic tropical virus or bite from a rare insect. The culprit was a bag of liquorice toffees, too many of which I consumed last Saturday afternoon while watching an exasperating 2-2 draw between Brighton and Leicester. It’s the artificial sweeteners that I seem to struggle with. And I certainly struggled with these ones.

Mercifully, I recovered just in time for my physio visit, though I did feel weak and malnourished after four days of puking and worse. Good for weight loss though. It took seven pounds off me, though most of that is likely to reappear, especially after this weekend, which includes, on Monday, a few hours in a hospitality box at Queens Park Rangers. Report to follow.

Some good news is that the new lawn bowls season has started. Today was the first day back on the greens at the club I belong to. It felt good to be out there in the open air again, bowling a few early-season wayward woods, and recycling the same old banter. Today was a gently non-competitive casual session — a ‘roll-up’. There is a dress code of sorts but it’s not strictly enforced, apart from the flat shoes rule which is eternally sacrosanct. Nearly every delivery is accompanied by one of the standard utterances: “Crikey, that didn’t turn at all!” or “Blimey, see how that one turned!” or “The green’s slow this morning!” Plenty of mild ribbing for poor efforts, and genuine appreciation for something more laudable, or more likely, luckier.

This season I’m stepping up my involvement in a quest to improve. I’ve entered as many club competitions as possible to have some way of measuring progress, and am also volunteering for more matches against other clubs. First one is in four or five days’ time. Slightly daunting as my long weekend away means I’ve almost no time available to prepare. I may only have the morning of the match to get in a bit of practice. Maybe the nervous pressure can be converted into some form of ruthless efficiency. Let’s see.