My left foot... revisited (again!)

Last March I went down the gym and took an induction course. I'd joined the club to swim and then I thought I'd be clever and join the gym, which cost nothing extra so why not? While in the gym I tried various pieces of kit, one being something that required me to push my feet against something and I knew immediately that I'd injured myself in some way or other. Within a day or two I was proved right and I started hobbling around the place. So in the end I went to a local GP hub, had X rays and blood tests and nothing came back, there was nothing wrong with me, I must have just injured myself. But it's always my left foot. In the end the ailment left the building and I was back to normal again. If you check back on this blog there's virtually a whole month between my post on the subject and the next post, which was the time I rode to Sevenoaks and back and stopped off at Soprano's for lunch. Anyway, it was earlier in the year. We're now six months down the line and I must have done something (I know not what) to get the old foot ailment back again. This time I'm not going to see anyone about it because I don't think GPs know anything, they never have any concrete answers even if I'd dropped a piece of concrete on my foot, they'd still debate what was wrong and not give me any answers; it's the same with blood tests, they never tell you the results, presumably because nothing is wrong (that's what I was told, actually) so here I am, hobbling around. Well, not now, it's gotten better. Last night I awoke around 0130hrs (I've not been sleeping well). I came downstairs, poured myself a glass of water and dropped a Nurofen, just one, and then I had the best night's sleep ever, waking around 0800hrs and feeling that my foot was better. By and large it is, but I'll probably drop another Nurofen before too long. It's great to feel better, though, really great. My whole mood lifts when I'm feeling good, as I do now, but I'm not fit enough to get on the bike, perhaps tomorrow. I've had this foot thing back again since Wednesday. I was in town on Wednesday, Mayfair to be precise, and I was limping, but nobody I was meeting noticed (thank God!) as there's nothing worse than being recognised as the underdog, the disabled one, but as I say they didn't notice anything, I concealed it well. The last thing I wanted was sympathy. After a business meeting I chilled in a teashop in Shepherds Market. I'm not sure if there's an apostrophe or not, it could be Shepherd's Market, but not in the way that St James's Park has the double 's'. I sat there listening to some kind of Middle Eastern music and then left. I was going to read my book there, Eric Ambler's Passage of Arms, which is great, but the teashop or cafe or whatever you want to call it didn't have the right vibe so I refrained from reading and just sat there watching the guy outside with the shisha pipe, what a disgusting habit is that? Like smoking generally. Horrible. And I should know, I used to smoke. I started at around 19 years old, stopped when I was 25 and then 10 years later started again, for about a year, then stopped for good. Awful habit, but I just gave up, I'm one of those people, I can take or leave things, I don't think nicotine had anything to do with my smoking. I wasn't addicted, put it that way, I wasn't going to be wearing patches or chewing gum, I just smoked and then I stopped. I was more into the bits and bobs that went with smoking: the cigarettes themselves (Marlboro Reds were my favourite, or Camel or Benson & Hedges Gold); then there was the tin, when I smoked roll-ups I had a tin, full of Old Holborn, plus the papers, the Rizlas, and the Zippo lighter of course. Smoking was fun, but like all fun things it wasn't good for my health so I gave up, pure and simple, and I don't miss it, I just stopped. Likewise with drinking, I just stopped and I never looked back, never had any kind of cold turkey, I stopped and I haven't started, it's been nearly eight years. Okay, so it's Saturday morning and I'm watching YouTube videos of big waves and cruise ships capsizing (almost). Not sure what we're doing today. Somebody's coming round to collect a wicker chair that's languishing in our garage, we don't need it, but it's quite good and somebody's on their way round (we hope), meaning we can't go out until they've been and gone. As a result, it's one of those slobby mornings. After my four-part crapola lunch on Thursday (Marmite Sandwich, Mulligatawny soup, cheese and mustard pickle sandwich, chocolate HobNobs and tea) I kept up the trend with a breakfast of more HobNobs and a Marmite sandwich, no porridge for me today. Perhaps I'll keep up the crapola cuisine all day if we go out anywhere today. If the foot gets better perhaps a ride tomorrow, a 15-miler even! Who knows? Not much else to say other than next door got burgled and the burglars sound like they were pros. Doubtless they won't be caught, they never are: 'no arrests have been made'. I want that on a tee-shirt.

It's nearly 2pm. Johnny and Jake are on the TV making their own chocolate and we're still waiting for the person to come round and collect the wicker sofa. She might not turn up, a strong possibility if you ask me. The plan is a drive to Guildford, which means I'll take a trip to Anderton's, check out the guitars. I'm off next week. I need a break I really do and when I go back I'm going to be different. I'm going to keep out of the politics and just do my job and not sit there working beyond the time when I can officially go home. I'm going to chill more at home, read in the conservatory and not constantly freak myself out listening to what other people think of this and that, which just makes me angry and rebellious when there's absolutely no need. In many ways I've been foolish. The moment I let others in, that was the problem. Leaving doors open is always a problem. My advice is close all doors, lock them, don't listen to others, just do your fucking job.

My left foot (revisited)

Things just happen, that's the way of the world, and often there's no way of telling if there might have been a reason, cause and effect and all that jazz. Sometimes, like back in October 2017, I awoke with my head spinning as soon as I jumped out of bed. That threw me, I can tell you. I gave up drinking and now, eight years later, I'm still on the wagon and have no intention of going back, even if it was simply an inner ear infection. In many ways, good things come out of bad.

My left foot is not a newcomer to this blog. If you go to the search bar at the top left of the page and key in 'my left foot' you'll get a few posts about it. I can't think of what triggered it. Last Thursday, after a swim, I went to a gym induction and was shown various pieces of gym equipment including a piece of machinery that looked as if it could dislocate my shoulder, now there's something I don't want, a dislocated shoulder. My brother suffered from one after using my Bullworker back in the seventies and, if I recall, he was dogged with problems for years and, I think, he had an operation to fix it. Once, I remember, he disclocated his shoulder whilst swimming in the sea and was a long way off the coast. Fortunately, all was fine. But listen, I don't want these problems. If I suffer any kind of injury linked to doing a specific sport, then I'm stopping immediately. I don't want to be put under for anything and would rather switch my sport to something a little safer.

Now I know there's no such thing as safe and that problems can arise from anything, like cycling, but that's not what I mean. I don't want to indulge in any sport that inherently has a specific injury attached to it. With cycling, yes, you can fall off, yes, you can be hit by a car and yes you can get injured, but there's nothing inherently problematic with cycling, your joints are supported, like they are with swimming (by the water) and by rowing and those are the sports I'd rather engage with; yes, I might be hit by a car, I might fall off, but such incidents are not directly the fault of the activity. Cycling, in other words, if you keep your wits about you, is pretty safe even if you cannot legislate against the activities of other road users or, indeed, your own negligence (like when I came off through nobody's fault but my own, ie I was riding too fast into a left turn. Not the bike's fault, not cycling's fault but my fault. I don't want to be engaged in a sport where the slightest wrong turn or twist will mean surgery. Count me out. I'm not a professional sportsman, I don't earn money from my exercise because that's all it is, exercise. I get paid for doing something unconnected with keeping fit, like most people.

So how the hell did I find myself unable to walk for most of the week? Your guess is as good as mine. Was it swimming? I doubt it. No, I put it down to foolishly 'trying out' the leg press and, as I say, fortunately, I haven't damaged my shoulders; again, I'm not a professional athlete, I don't earn my money from keeping fit, it's purely me doing my best to maintain a reasonable level of fitness, but the parameters seemed to have changed a little bit, forcing me and countless others to fret about not getting enough exercise.

While I have always rode a bike throughout my life, as a kid and an adult, my sport of choice used to be swimming and back in the day I was always told that 20 minutes of exercise, three times a week, was all I needed to keep fit. I swam between two and three times a week, normally with two half-milers and then a mile on a Saturday morning (God, I felt good after the Saturday swim), but that was it. Outside of my two to three swims I was happy and I didn't think of exercise in a fretful way. But over the years, in the same way that marketing people convinced us all that we ought to be drinking litre upon litre of water daily and people started buying those plastic or steel water bottles - I knew people who bought huge canisters and probably drank well over what they should have been drinking - the same has happened with exercise. In fact, I can almost remember the day that somebody upped the ante on exercise, claiming that it's a daily thing, at least 20 minutes, not just three times a week (which was more than enough) but seven days a week, no let-up and so 'going to the gym' became something that people started doing and of course people, businessmen, got rich out of people's obsession with being ripped or whatever it might be, but the gyms were full, people were making money and now if we take a day off we fret and worry about it and vow to double up the following week.

It's the same with a lot of things and we can draw many parallels. So let's see if we can break a few myths. First, I'm going to stick my neck out and say exercise three times a week is absolutely fine. At present I manage one swim and two rides per week. I'm thinking of adding a second swim or a third ride, but that's all. I don't need (and don't want) to be in the gym every morning, on a treadmill watching breakfast television, don't want it, don't need it. I'm happy with my two rides and yes, if I don't do them (like this week) then I get a little irritable as I don't like breaking the routine and missing out. I do believe in exercise and I enjoy it. I'd hate to be one of those people who go everywhere by car, even down to the corner shop to get a newspaper.

But let's get back, briefly, to those parallels. Phones. I used to have a Nokia 3310. I did it's job perfectly and the battery lasted forever. It was a phone, people called me, I answered, we talked, we hung up. I don't need a smartphone. I never use half of the apps and, if I'm honest, I hardly use the phone element of it. There was a time when people were always calling me, now not so much. I've often thought about buying another 3310 and ditching the iphone but I probably won't because I like to record my rides on Strava, I can do so much with it to be fair. That said, data is another one. Who needs it? Do I need to record my distances? Who for? Who's counting? Nobody. In the old days I used to go cycling and that was it. Keeping data on the rides is pointless and, of course, it leads to fretting, unless I can get paid for the number of rides I'm doing, in which case I'd better monitor them. There was a time recently when, if my phone was low on power I'd delay the ride so I could record my distance even though I knew my distance, my destination and roughly how long it took me without switching on the app. Now, if my phone is low on gas and I'm not meeting anybody who might call me en route, I don't bother charging it, I just go and come back on time and get on with my day. The key is to reduce the amount of fretting that takes place constantly. I've got enough of that with work.

There's no real knowing what I did to my foot. I went online and started reading up on what it could have been; tendonitis? Well, that's what I went to the doctor with and there's nothing a doctor likes more than having the words put in his or her mouth. "Yes, it looks like it," he said, and that's it I was labelled as somebody with tendonitis. Except that I wasn't happy with that. The last time I had something similar (a swollen and discoloured foot and a lot of pain and unable to walk) I found out later that I had cellulitis and was given a load of antibiotics to take for around a fortnight. So I booked another appointment with a different doctor. I told him about the many different times that my left foot had caused problems and he wanted to know why. So he sent me to my local GP hub for blood tests and an X-ray. On the former, no problems. In fact he later said it wasn't an infection but an inflammation. Fine, that was good to know. I'm awaiting the X-ray results. It has got better. I haven't taken any Nurofen since Thursday (today's Sunday) and I'm kind of walking again, albeit with a hobble in my step. I'll probably take the bike round the block (six miles) just to get some exercise, which I've missed this week, but it's good to take it easy once in a while and I've been sitting here all morning writing this, drinking tea and listening to Stomu Yamash'ta (currently In Zen Music Vol.1 and a track called Drizzly Step – kind of appropriate don't you think?). Yamash'ta is where it's at. I would recommend that you listen to him urgently. I plan to listen to him a lot more. I heard him first on Night Tracks on BBC Radio 3 and it's the most chilled you'll ever get.

I need to get back to writing and riding and swimming. This enforced break through injury is a little annoying especially when I look out the window and realise that spring is here. I've just noticed that the clocks have gone forward and that means that summer is once again upon us. Hopefully it will be bring plenty of bike rides and happy times. 

My left foot...

Late February 2012 was the last time I recorded there being anything wrong with my left foot and if there is any kind of pattern developing (assuming that cycling and the state of my foot are in some way linked) then it has to be steep hills and possibly pushing things a little too far. Back in 2012 Andy and I rode to Limpsfield village following an off-road route through the Titsey Estate. On the return journey we had no choice other than to ride up Titsey Hill to reach the plateau and Botley Hill Farmhouse. The following day I was in the same state I found myself in last Monday – unable to walk. In a nutshell all of this week I've been hobbling around. It started Monday and got progressively worse as the week progressed. It was so bad that I was quite literally dragging my left leg behind me and it took me an inordinate amount of time to get anywhere. Fortunately my wife picked me up each night from Purley station, saving me the agony of the longish walk home. I say 'longish' because any walk, be it a short stroll to the local shops, is like trekking across the Himalayas. It wasn't pleasant and night times were just as bad as a dull, mildly throbbing ache meant that it was difficult to get to sleep. I resorted to Nurofen but was clearly not taking enough. In fact, I ought to relate my Nurofen story. In essence, all we had in the house were Nurofen melts, which, for some reason, didn't really appeal. Now you might say that if I was desperate, surely any port in a storm and all that, but for some reason I wanted basic Nurofen. So, at 0200hrs, I hopped out of bed – and by 'hopped' I mean I hopped out of bed on my right leg, wary that as soon as I put any kind of pressure on my left foot I'd be in total agony. I couldn't even put a shoe or trainer on without shrieking with pain. Suddenly the peace of the night was shattered. Arrrrgggggggggggggggghhhh! In the end I resorted to wearing my slippers.

At the foot of Hesiers Hill – perhaps I was over enthusiastic.

This shot was taken in the summertime.

Outside it was cold and quiet and the halogen street lights created a kind of lunar landscape in a suburban setting. I limped to the car, jumped in and drove off, passing a couple of gas stations and pulling in to their deserted, brightly-lit forecourts to see if they were open. It was hard to tell and the last thing I wanted to do was get out of the car and try walking if there was no point. The pumps were on; I could clearly see the digital read-outs of the meters, the forecourt was ablaze with light but there didn't appear to be anybody in the shop. I drove out and later found another gas station equally deserted. There was only one thing for it: the 24-hour Tesco in Purley – which, in all honesty, was where I was heading anyway. The huge car park there was virtually empty so I drove to the nearest parking space next to the store and then limped off in the direction of the shop floor. Fortunately I was directed to a small counter selling Nurofen Express, which I figured were good enough (although why 'brand extensions' exist I'll never know). There were no cashiers, just self-service machines, which required me to limp for a few yards more to pay. Clasping my much needed drugs I limped to the car, drove home, took some Nurofen and went to bed. It was around 0300hrs before I fell asleep, possibly later.

The week was characterised by limping everywhere and by Wednesday I figured a trip to the doctor's was in order so I booked up and found myself waiting almost an hour in the surgery's waiting room. GPs tend to be pretty useless as they don't really know what's wrong with anyone, they simply ask a few questions and then suggest that it might be X or Y and that anti-inflammatories are the best bet to start with. "Come back if you've still got it next week," she said and I limped away.

The last time this happened (back in February 2012) I went to a doctor in Croydon, at May Day hospital, and asked them if they thought it might be gout. I was told no, not gout. If it was gout, she said, I wouldn't be able to touch it. Phew! But this time round the subject raised its ugly head again mainly because, over the Christmas period, I had stuffed my face with tangerines and oranges and other acidic fruits. I wished I hadn't mentioned it because it led to the doctor saying that perhaps I should consider a blood test. I hate blood tests. But she said it wasn't necessary so I haven't bothered. What she did say was 'no cycling', not this weekend at any rate, so I resolved not to go. Andy wasn't going on Saturday and, as it turns out, the rain was falling on Sunday, which meant it was likely that we would have aborted anyway. It was one of those damp mornings when everything had that wet look and the back lawn in particular took on a sponge-like appearance.

Fortunately, my foot is now better. I can walk virtually normally and I'm no longer in pain. There's nothing worse than being out of action for health reasons – in this case a dodgy left foot. It makes you realise the importance of good health at all times.

It also makes me realise how lucky I am to be able-bodied and how these things shouldn't be taken for granted. I'm levelling the blame for my left foot at Hesiers Hill on last Sunday's ride and, perhaps, I was overdoing it a bit. To be honest, I don't know the real cause, but that's the only thing I can attribute it to. Fortunately for me, it's over now. I'm feeling better, I'm not limping, I'm not in pain and I'll be back on the bike next weekend – weather permitting.