Plastered

After my slight mishap I spent the next couple of weeks at home, hopping round the house and trying to keep my foot elevated. I quickly realised that crutches, although helpful were also a massive pain in the arse. My upper body strength, coordination and balance are all pretty rubbish. So I spent most of the time flapping around like a daddy long legs bouncing off a light bulb.

The frustration of not being able to walk, let alone run, was at times unbearable. Some times the frustration of having my movement limited got to me. Getting a bath required a fair degree of contortion and driving my car was out of the window.

However I tried to remain positive. Many people have come back from far worse injuries and carried on running.  My long suffering wife looked after me and the news of the troubles in Syria helped me put my own troubles in perspective.

Having a cat also helps. long hours stuck indoors by yourself is a lonely affair. Stevie the cat seemed to have an uncanny knack for lifting my mood, purring and cuddling up to my splint every hour of the day.

After much laying about with the cat, eventually a letter from the hospital came and the plaster was soon cut off. My inflexible knee high plaster was replaced by a rather sexy black slipper. Apart from being an amazing statement of my world renowned fashion sense, the slipper kept my foot flat and un-flexed. The stiff nature of the soul would give my bone support and encourage it to grow back together.

The major benefit of the slipper was that I could put weight on my foot. I could walk, slowly, painfully and only over a short distance, but I could walk. It is strange that something so simple, so basic as walking could give me so much happiness.

My mood felt lifted and the possibility of running again seemed one step closer. I was counting down the weeks to my next hospital visit.