Keeping fit makes you ill: on crutches, hands, knees and bumpsadaisy

A little update: in my perennial battle against the flab, I have taken to running very fast on the spot — a bit like the red queen with similar health results — mostly in the kitchen while the kettle boils.

Warm-ups have been cursory; a bit of toe-touching, the odd yoga stretch. So I was more shocked than surprised when making a cuppa on Wednesday, I sprung into action like a mountain goat only to fell something go "pop" in my left leg. Something snapped in my calf muscle halfway up and down I went.

First thing I did was to feel for a knot of muscle as I'd imagined the tendon to have broken from the bone and the muscle coiled back on itself like over-extended elastic suddenly released. How the frick, I wondered, was that going to be repaired? An operation? The inevitable bout of MRSA to follow?

Luckily, a quick feel confirmed both legs were symmetrical.

No pain except when I stood and then ... OW, OW, OW, OW, OW!!! Like a bullet, sudden and sharp agony.

Acting on the doc's instructions, I went to the minor injuries clinic in A&E. The wheelchair was most enjoyable — part palanquin and part pram, I quite enjoyed being wheeled around. When I come to power ...

I am now on crutches. But able to move on hands and knees like something out of 50 Shades of Grey. Or a single segment of Human Centipede.

I had to crawl to the loo in the middle of the night because of my torn muscle. Crawling back in the dark, I realised I looked like Sadako in Ringu (or like my Grudge video above) and terrified myself to the point where I cried. A bit. Not too much, coz I'm tough. Even if I scare myself. Grrrr!

With any luck, the six week estimated healing time may not be needed, as long as I stick to the RICE regimen: rest, ice,compression and exercise plus painkillers four times daily. Today I could put weight on it — just about. It's really only the point while walking where I shift from heel to ball of the foot where it's agonising.

So Tuesday's Farrago Poetry Slam UK Championship will see me onstage and reading from my poetry collection, Reaching for my Gnu, whether on crutches, or hands and knees. I'm there.

Vagina dentata rape deterrent

Holy crap, we have to go this far?

Dr Sonnet Ehlers says:

It hurts, he cannot pee and walk when it's on. If he tries to remove it, it will clasp even tighter.

I can see a lot of holes in this one.

Vagina dentata rape deterrent

Holy crap, we have to go this far?

Dr Sonnet Ehlers says:

It hurts, he cannot pee and walk when it's on. If he tries to remove it, it will clasp even tighter.

I can see a lot of holes in this one.

Flu invasion: end the madness now

This is the mugshot of the little bastid that’s been ravaging my body for the past few days.

At first I wasn’t sure if it was a nasty cold or the beginnings of the flu that's been doing the rounds but the symptoms seem to indicate an invasion of the the latter. Armed with their F-16s and Apache helicopters, these fuckas are launching white phosphorous bombs and taking out my lung-lining like it’s Lucy Pinder. All I’m armed with is some poor wee scillia doing their feeble best to expel the infection but getting mashed by the superior firepower of the aggressor virus, the nasty, nippy, little overblown emissaries of pain.

Thursday was the worst. I was faint, hallucinating (quite nice, actually), delirious, bronchitic, shivering, aching all over and unable to sit upright.

I’ve been in bed dosing with Lemsip and snuggling up to hot-water bottles (hello, rubber!) to burn out the fever. Heating’s turned up despite the punishing cost of staying warm now that our utilities are all owned by Big Business (thanks Tory John Major and New Labour!!!)

Today I'm feeling a bit better, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, it's probably the variety that makes you think it’s gone and you're on the road to recovery. Then it returns bringing all its friends and has a party in your twitching corpse.

STOP PRESS
Blogger-on-the-spot Harpy Marx just texted me at 13:40 to say there were 100,000 on today's march in London.

Flu invasion: end the madness now

This is the mugshot of the little bastid that’s been ravaging my body for the past few days.

At first I wasn’t sure if it was a nasty cold or the beginnings of the flu that's been doing the rounds but the symptoms seem to indicate an invasion of the the latter. Armed with their F-16s and Apache helicopters, these fuckas are launching white phosphorous bombs and taking out my lung-lining like it’s Lucy Pinder. All I’m armed with is some poor wee scillia doing their feeble best to expel the infection but getting mashed by the superior firepower of the aggressor virus, the nasty, nippy, little overblown emissaries of pain.

Thursday was the worst. I was faint, hallucinating (quite nice, actually), delirious, bronchitic, shivering, aching all over and unable to sit upright.

I’ve been in bed dosing with Lemsip and snuggling up to hot-water bottles (hello, rubber!) to burn out the fever. Heating’s turned up despite the punishing cost of staying warm now that our utilities are all owned by Big Business (thanks Tory John Major and New Labour!!!)

Today I'm feeling a bit better, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, it's probably the variety that makes you think it’s gone and you're on the road to recovery. Then it returns bringing all its friends and has a party in your twitching corpse.

STOP PRESS
Blogger-on-the-spot Harpy Marx just texted me at 13:40 to say there were 100,000 on today's march in London.