Today I should have been sitting here unable to move but with a massive smile on my face. I should have been showing off a new medal, regaling you with tales of emergency poo stops en route and trying to figure out if my feet would ever forgive me. This weekend should have been the big one. I should have run my first 100 miler. Instead I am sitting here feeling nervous as fuck about having to have surgery tomorrow morning.
The last medal onto my slightly narcissitic rack outside my bathroom was the proudly earned Lakeland 50 back in July. After that my body started to shout a bit louder. The dull, constant ache I’ve felt since the lorry v bike accident back in November 2013 started to become less dull. The only way I can describe the pain is contractions constantly radiating down my arm and the feeling of a hot poker being well, poked, into my shoulder with no warning. I simply lost all physical ability to put any real effort into running so cancelled marathons and a couple of ultras. After some well meaning nagging (thank you) I decided to finally go see a doctor. This my lovelies is where private insurance came into its own … saw the doc on Friday, ortho consultant following Thursday and will be onto the operating table less than a month later. I love and fully support the NHS but due to the utter bollocks of understaffing and under financing I would not have seen the operating table for probably a year. I was honestly glad to find out things were so messed up (with me not the NHS). To find out that the increasing pain in my shoulder and arm was not imagined and that my slowing down was justified was almost a relief.
I’ve had to cancel marathons and a couple of ultras as a result. Eddie and I had to wipe my training calendar clean. I had to change my plans for early 2016. I got resentful of others plans. Any plans. If someone started talking about training for full contact tiddlywinks I got jealous.
At first when I was told that I was looking at 12 weeks no running I cried. Lots. However, my fabulous surgeon has told me if I actually do as I’m told with my recovery plan then I could possibly be back running as soon as December 1st. Nothing fancy, probably only 1 mile to start with but running none the less. So you can bet your little cotton socks I am going to follow my plan to the letter. I will wear the sling 24 hours a day for minimum 3 weeks, I will sleep in this fucking contraption for at least 6 weeks (sex life cancelled then), I will do my physio religiously, I will rest when I’m tired, I will keep a close eye on negative mental effects of general anaesthetic (I never would have imagined there was such a connection), I will not lift so much as a cup of tea with my left arm and most importantly – I WILL NOT RUN. The only thing I will do that he’s frowning at is go back to work later next week. My current major client are being totally amazing about this but I do not wish to take advantage. Luckily it’s my left arm so I’m not fully useless (no comments you lot at the back).
I have some truly wonderful friends and I want to apologise to you all now for any grumpiness you may experience when coming to assist me on your ‘care in the community’ efforts during my recovery. Seriously though, those who know me well will understand that the thought of being less than fully independent is the hardest part of all of this for me so when I put the call out for help it completely floored me on how quickly folks stepped up in a variety of roles. Some staying for a few days, some overnight, some popping by for a few hours, offers to go shopping for me, offers to help me put my bra on … the list goes on.
So I finish this rather pathetic non-training update to warn any of you that are friends with me on Facebook to unfriend or hide me now as I am likely to break the internet while I have cabin fever and you sooooo know I am going to be posting shoulder pictures 🙂
I’ll be back.