Benjamin Franklin once said, “He that can have patience can have what he will.” Profound, sure, but clearly Mr Franklin, caught up with founding the United States and whatnot, was no runner. Because as anyone who’s ever suffered a running-related injury will know, it’s almost impossible to have such a considered approach when you’re sidelined.
A couple of weekends ago, I thought it would be a good idea to run round a 400m track for 24 hours. It wasn’t. Delirium and blisters aside, I also managed to damage the patellar tendon in my left knee and came away with a spot of achilles tendonitis.
Now, I’ve had a few niggles in the past – a dodgy ITB here, shin splints there – but this feels a bit different. My achilles, in particular, continues to creak with every stretch and a gentle jog remains out of the question. So the question is this: what else is there to do?!
The thing about the achilles, I’ve come to learn, is that it’s really quite good at getting in the way. The rowing machine is out of the question, as are a lot of bodyweight exercises. Swimming is off the cards, because I’m about as at home in water as a fish out of it, and I can’t bring myself to rely on the Elliptical Machine because…well just because.
Which leaves one thing: the exercise bike (void as I am of the much more exciting road-based alternative). Hour after hour I’ve sat with headphones in, listening to literally anything to take my mind of the incessant whirring. Next to me, people plod along on the treadmill and all I want to say is, “What are you doing?! You can run. Free yourself from the machine and get out there. Fly my pretty, fly!” But then they look back, and what they see is a sweaty man with a slightly crazed look in his eye staring straight at them. I don’t say anything.
And so this is to be my life for the next however many weeks: consigned to a world of pedals, saddle and handlebars. I’m aware that I’ll also become that very worst type of person: the injured runner. The injured runner can’t talk about anything without bringing up their injury. The subject of my achilles – completely inconsequential to anyone else – will therefore be brought into every conversation – “Do you want to go for a run?” “Sorry, dodgy achilles;” “How do you like your tea?” “Weak, like my achilles” etc etc.
So I ask you this, dear reader: enjoy your running, but do not take it for granted. A temporary world of stationary exercise is only ever one 24-hour track race away.
