The one where I really don't want to be "Off Games"

Corporal - like butter wouldn't melt...

"I would advise that you do not run."

How I used to long for such words in my youth - especially on a cold grey day like today. I hated games especially lacrosse which I was next to completely useless at. That feeling of inevitable dread that would settle on one as a 14-year old, as you watched the skies getting greyer and the relentless march of the minute hand on the clock taking you to the appointed hour of your doom - the Games lesson.

But now I don't like to hear those words at all - I want to run, I need to run, I've got a marathon in less than three months!

It all started with me landing my head on Friday. And it really wasn't my fault at all. I was doing everything I should and doing it properly but as I was reminded probably not properly enough. "If you'd been sitting well back and not tipping forward you'd probably have stayed on."

Probably.

Not definitely.

To be honest I don't remember what happened. The last thing I recall is trotting over a dry water tray on Corporal, the white-faced cob, and feeling pretty pleased with myself in that  he went over it without a murmur...the next thing I remember I was getting up from the ground and not quite sure exactly why. My head was ringing and I could have sworn that the horse and rider I was looking at really should not have been there, they should have been behind me not in front.

After getting my bearings I remounted and continued the lesson, trying very hard to put all the pieces together and not really succeeding.

I seemed OK and got home later feeling a tad discombobulated.

The next day I surely felt what had happened with an uncomfortable case of whip lash, headache and sore back. Thank heavens I had been wearing my hat and body protector - as I obviously do not bounce anymore!

Headaches soon cleared away and apart for a good rest I didn't think anything of it - I mean I went to ride again twice at the weekend and one of those included a show jumping competition! But I wasn't daft enough to run.

Come Monday I was getting a bit stir crazy re the running but because my back was painful thought I had better hold off for 24 hours. Come Tuesday I thought sod it and went out for a quick four miler and that is when it became uncomfortable, the pain building with every step, so that by the time it came to the evening  I could barely sit down!

Thus emergency call to the doctor today and the resulting "Off Games" slip - I've only gone and bruised my kidneys with the force of the fall and they are not happy that I did not get my head checked as well - I tried to tell them it was a lost cause, there was no point getting my head checked as I am considered as mad as a box of frogs anyway!

So as well as the bruised kidney I also have a mild case of concussion...

"So when can I run again?"

"When it is better but  if you run now it will only get worse!"

Oh how I wish I could tell my 14 year old self that  I should take all the days I can running about as one day it won't just be a case of not being able to, I won't be allowed to!

Doc says I will probably be alright by next week...

Probably

Not definitely....

 

The bliss of not thinking…

I love not thinking, not having any thoughts at all is bliss or else just letting your mind wander wherever it may choose but without the anxiety of knowing you actually have to think of things to do.

Every Tuesday morning I don’t think. For one blissful hour all my thinking is done for me. All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other and try not to fall over.

I have a personal trainer. He’s a 6 foot Scot built like a brick shit house and is a former ex-Army PT instructor and without him, well, without him life would be intolerable. For as well as forcing me to run and exercise he also takes away the huge burden I carry around with me: my brain.

I am often told that I think too much and that I should just stop: easier said than done but with SFS (Six foot Scot) there is no point thinking. As he often says: “I’ll do the thinking. You just do as you’re told.” And “Don’t get clever it doesn’t suit you” and words of wisdom along a similar vein and it is heaven.

For one hour I do as I am told and run and exercise my guts out and all the while I know someone else is in charge. I am free of all responsibility. While I must do exactly as I am told and look smart about it, I am strangely liberated during that one hour.

It is better therapy than you would believe and worth every penny spent, though to be honest; in the four years I have been training the price has yet to go up. I started out with a crook back, for SFS as well as being a PT is also a Sports Massage Therapist and while I was there trying not to get embarrassed about my flobby body lying inert on a table, we talked of the Army and that sort of thing and I plucked up the courage to ask if he would help me learn to run so that I could play with my children without having half a heart attack after five minutes.

He took me on, taught me to walk then run exercised me and even trained me for the London Marathon but more importantly every Tuesday he relieves me of the burden of my mind.

Just another excuse...

Everything is grinding to a halt and all the things that do need doing are not being done and all the things that could be left, or are of no tactical advantage, have become incredibly exciting and I have to do them NOW.
There are drifts laundry under the stairs, unopened post dumped in mounds on what is left of the kitchen table, dust bunnies are breeding and as for work – forget it!
Hands up - I am not the most organised person on the planet. As Dad would say I couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery. I freely admit that - so what is causing the stoppage: The Boy.
To put it more accurately I am in full flooded worry mode after the news that The Boy has Petit Mal – well the GP is pretty certain that it is and now we await our first consultation at hospital to find out how to deal with it.
My mind is so full with questions and concerns and so scared that I cannot articulate any of them. I know from Googling that it can be treated easily. That it is more than likely The Boy will grow out of it. But I can’t help feeling worried – an unspecified worry that niggles all the time.
The day after the news, even though I shed not a single tear, I felt as though I had been weeping constantly. I was exhausted.
I felt frustrated that I could not get it sorted out at once and being told initially that I would have to wait 60 days for a first consultation had me spinning almost out of control.
I don’t want to have too much information before the first consultation in case I start to take issue with the experts – which I understand is not the best way to get them on side. Nor do I want to go in a total ignoramus - so betwixt and in between I sit. Do I or don’t I?
And it’s spreading into the other compartments of my life and I feel a bit like the Titanic about to go down with the bands still playing.
I spent the whole of Friday begging various Epileptic Charities to take me on for the London Marathon via a series of e-mails and slightly mad telephone messages. It just seemed the best way I could do something, the best way to keep myself occupied enough so I wouldn’t cause confusion in the household before the weekend.
All of them were delightful and if they were slightly bemused by being bombarded they took it in their stride. I do hope I get chosen – it would keep us all amused if nothing else this winter.
Or is it just another excuse to be disorganised?