I’ve been quiet for awhile.
Fed up and generally pissed off with life.
2015 has so far been a massive let down.
I’m used (unfortunately) to injuries. I am used to missing training for awhile before getting back to it.
This time around its been different. Christmas excess was planned to be burnt off quicker than ever before. I wanted to start the road to tenby with purpose and direction. Instead I have been spending time arguing with doctors secretaries and insurance companies, with myself and at one point even the dog.
Whatever is going on in my knee is painful in two areas. The jarring / searing pain deep within my left knee is only eclipsed with the feelings that resonate in my head.
I feel like my only outlet for day to day stresses has disappeared, the thing I used to broadly obsess over has been cruelly stolen away.
All this compounded by the fact that I am missing races already with numerous more in the coming months looking increasingly doubtful.
My little base level of fitness is crawling off into the distance and I can’t chase after it.
I have found myself just starring at my bike, checking my running shoes ( not used since the middle of December) for mud and missing the stinging feeling of sweat dripping from my forehead after a decent run. I can’t even remember what it feels like to run.
The only thing that has benefited has been the washing machine which must be glad for the rest.
I haven’t been able to moan about the weather and how cold it was on that early morning 10k in the pitch black – instead I curse every step gingerly taken, as I shuffle around the house in the pre dawn darkness. You see my body seems to not want to play ball this year however my body clock is still up for the 4:45 starts and I can’t turn it off.
This combined with the fact that I seem to be more sleepy when not training than I do when I am means the fuzzy darkness that seems to live in the back of my mind has been growing and spreading like a toxic internal cloud.
I have started to resent people exercising; in the flesh when I see a pack of cyclists I just feel anger towards the lycra glad warriors. On social media, which for me is heavily sportingly focused, I have been deleting people through jealously left, right and centre.
I blocked someone I have spoken to at great length for the best part of a year because in my mind they went to far with the constant ‘banter’ at Tenby last time around. Looking back I probably overreacted, although I don’t regret doing it but its symptomatic of my poisonous state of mind.
Weekends are the most painful, with no distraction of herding cats at work I have loads of free time to…..er…..sit around and mope. I can’t even go for a reasonable walk to the park with the family – I can’t sort the garden out like planned, I can’t go for days out which require much of a drive, as by the time I get there my knee is so sore I can’t really walk anywhere.
It’s a horrible vicious circle. I’m annoyed so I mope, so I get annoyed so I mope. So I eat. Then get annoyed about eating so I mope.
This is no fairytale story, I have no current knight in shining armour riding into view across the Welsh hills.
I have seen Dr’s, taken drugs, visited consultants and had 6 weeks of physio sessions, I’ve run on trampolines, been x rayed and stretched in many different ways however still no one knows what’s up.
I have finally managed to convince anyone who would listen that I need a mri scan, the appointment with the tube of destiny is Tuesday. But even that is annoying the hell out of me.
The consultant can’t then see me till the end of the month, to tell me what’s up – so that’s another month wasted, even before I have the treatment / op prescribed for whatever the hell is toying with my insides. And this is through private healthcare. You certainly don’t get what the company pays for.
At the moment I’m not sure if that tiny light at the end of the tunnel that is February is the MRI scanner or the glint on a surgeons knife.
Judging by my luck I know which one I would wager upon.