No steps this week, no kilometres to add to my training total, no calories burned, no progress. It started with a sharp pain below my right knee in the final mile of last week’s walk, and by the time we got off the train I was clinging to the handrail in order to limp pathetically down the stairs, pain shooting into my ankle and along my foot. Pleased to have made good time that day, buzzing with the warm satisfaction of a training session well done, I thought nothing of it. But when I found myself limping into work the next day, finding any excuse to sit down, close to tears on the way home, I recognised the sharp, splintering pain of tendonitis.
As a medical student, I’m a prime offender when it comes to self-diagnosis. Dr Google tells me I have damaged my peroneus (not “peri-anal” as my unsympathetic A&E colleagues hilariously suggested) longus tendon, on the outside of my right ankle and foot. Rest and anti-inflammatory drugs were in order; neither was practical. I tried to get an appointment with an actual doctor to see about getting some stronger pain relief. This also proved not to be possible. The A&E department, my current place of work, has no chairs. Seriously, even the computers are placed at standing height. Wonderful for efficiency; less wonderful for healing sore feet.
It’s been 10 days and walking is still painful, but far worse than the pain is the frustration. Maybe I’m just contrary, but ever since I’ve been out of action all I want to do is walk. My trainers taunt me from the wardrobe in the mornings; gorgeous sunshine is a slap in the face, and an unexpected afternoon off feels like a personal insult. Heal, damn you heel, heal yourself (terrible pun… see I’m losing my mind… should probably leave things there!)
Where's Viv? 