April, you Fool

[Sweder]

My 4th Marathon in as many years - you'd think I'd've got used to this by now.

Fat chance. I'm stuffing my face at every opportunity; chocolate bars, wine gums, service station sandwiches, the occasional beer . . . embracing all those bad habits that got me into a Lardy state in the first place. I know this is all part of the process but it still feels alien.

Planning a very gentle plod with the hounds on the Downs later today.
As much to relieve the tension as to spin the legs. I'm off work for the rest of the week now; lots of 'Honey Do' items on the agenda - clearing the first pond weed of the season, re-potting a few pond plants, getting in a stock of summer fish food, helping Phoebe prepare for her SATS, finding something nice for the Memsahib for her birthday. All worthwhile distractions, but every now and then my mind wanders off towards the weekend. Travel plans are set (I still don't have a hotel room - that'll be sorted out today :o ). I secured the required Doctor's letter on Monday.

The Doc welcomed me in with cheery grin, expressing admiration when I told him why I'd come in.

'You know, it's very hard to say if you're fit enough to take part in a marathon. You've obviously been training, but if you set off like a hare you could blow up after ten miles.' Helpful.
'There again you could be extremely unfit, walk the course and finish fairly easily.' Hmm, yes, well, if you could just write the letter . . .

Sensing my impatience he took out a piece of Practice letterhead and started to scrawl reference numbers, the date, my name and address.

'Of course, it plays havoc with the knees and ankles. You've had some trouble with those in the past, yes?'
He knows the answer of course. My recent medical history, details of the repeat syringing of my hammered right knee (Sunday league ending tackle) and ligament damage to both ankles (Five-a-side) no doubt now flashing urgently on his computer screen.

I explained my training strategy, all off-road, grassy plods, kind to the joints, good for the heart and lungs. He agreed, a wise choice – except for the dangers of rabbit scrapes and the occasional hidden ankle-trap. I drew a steady, deep breath, resisting the urge to leap at him screaming just write the sodding letter you stethoscope-weilding moron! You don’t know me from Adam, how could you possibly know whether or not I’m OK to run 26.2 miles? Write the letter, take your fee, next patient please, move along! Nothing to see here . . .

‘Yes, ha-ha! Guess that’s why I’ve developed a stoop, watching out for all those hazards . . .'
What on Earth possessed me to say that?? Please, just sign the paper, I’ll fill in the rest . . .

Scribble, scrawl, slashed signature.
‘Better use the stamp, the French like stamps’.
Yes, please, use the stamp.

'If you keel over half way round, we never had this conversation, right?'
He's grinning - this is humour. Grin back.
'You ain't seen me - roight?' I tap my nose in the manner of the Fast Show character.

In the end, no fee, a hearty ‘good luck’ and I’m on my way.
Let me share the contents of the letter. I have no idea what the Parisian authorities will make of it.

‘I am the medical attendant to the above.
He is fit to run marathon races.’