This post is not about being fashionable, it is about wearing out. Something is going on with my hip with which I am not altogether comfortable. I fear ironmongery is just around the corner. I am currently teetering, arse just millimetres above the sharpened tip of the horn of a dilemma. I cannot deny that my hip aches after I run, but it aches more when I don’t run. Do I keep on running, bearing in mind that I just might be doing more harm than good, or do I stop running and just let the bloody thing seize up? (Time to point out, this is a rhetorical question. I am as stubborn as a very very stubborn thing. I will continue to run as long as I am capable. In my mind, keeping all of my failing joints moving can only be a good thing. Sooner or later, something will stop me – probably an ill-judged bus – but until then, I jog on.)
I get no pain whatsoever from my hip whilst I am running. It is one of the few smug joints that does not give me gyp during exercise. It waits until three A.M. and then begins its toothache throb. I am very stubborn about painkillers as well. I do not take them. I remember my grandma telling her doctor that she did not want to take painkillers because, if she did, she would have no way of knowing that the pain had stopped. I kind of get that: you will almost certainly still be taking them when you don’t need to. Occasionally my knees demand that they remain encased in supports throughout the day, but generally they are much more robust than they were six months ago. My ankles are almost strong enough to support the rest of me unaided these days. Also, I think that it might help all of my movable lower bits and bobs that there is quite a lot less of me for them to support now – and running is the only way, that I can actually think of, to maintain that. I eat crap, I drink too much and in all other respects I am a total sloth; running is my only vice.
Also, I must report that spring is definitely just around the corner. I ventured out today in nothing more than shorts (over leggings) and a T-shirt (over a sleeveless vest and under a long sleeved ‘T’). I have shed the fleece joggers and the fluorescent jacket – although not yet the hat and gloves. Snowdrops stand in clumps around the base of trees, peeking out from winter-long grass, trembling in the breeze; daffodil buds are pushing through the soil; all around me the birds are doing whatever it is that birds do in the spring. Doubtless, somewhere, the bees are at it like knives. Spring always seems to me to bring about the fastest transformation in the planet. Suddenly everything that is not turning green, is mating. The world renewed. Except this year it all seems somehow wasted. All of this wonder to witness and nobody to witness it, unless it is happening within whatever is perceived as a suitable distance from your front door step.
My run today took me over the swollen village beck, bereft of kids with nets; across the village sports field (technically known, in these covid times, as the village field); through the empty pub garden and finally the village churchyard – suddenly ablaze with the colour of dozens of new bouquets in vases – and although my heart sank at the emptiness of it all, my hip did not complain at all.
In keeping with my pledge at the start of the year, I changed my avatar yesterday to a slightly more hairy Lockdown version of me and it made me think that it is time for a new photo to accompany the Running Man. I think that I probably should make it clear, in order to forestall any threat of litigation, that the legs in the photo are not mine (that’s never going to happen) but they do, at least, appear to be running…
The next Running Man episode ‘The Running Man on Running’ is here.
The last Running Man episode, ‘The Running Man and the Weather’ is here.
The whole sorry saga started with ‘Couch to 5k’ here, whilst we were still coping with Lockdown 1.