They think it's all over! Well......

That's my right ankle. Pretty, isn't it. Such graceful body lines are a gift - by gift I mean hinderance. 

For many years I have abused my ankles. Many moons of smashing around a soccer field, which my ankles informed me during my late twenties and early thirties was a terrible idea. They way they like to inform their owner of these things is to roll over on you and send you shrieking like Luis Suarez have been judo chopped on the football pitch. They do this periodically. Mostly at your behest, as you take on another ill sort after footie match with a bunch of over forties. All of which have their own ailments and none of which you believe you are like, physically. Yet, after each of these yearly games, where you charge around the field like a well oiled machine without the remotest thought toward taking it easy or being sensible, or the fact that this just might leave you sore for a week.

Those type of decisions is what lead me to an MRI table and an oh-so-familiar radio station menu to chose from, in order to drown out the loud obnoctious machine. This would be the third or fourth MRI on my ankles post excessive sideways activity. You'd think I'd take a hint.

Naturally, when the results find their way to you in an express fashion, not 45 minutes post scan, you mind flies to the "end of the world" scenario. It's all gone wrong! How will I make it through summer after they hack my ankle open?? Such vivid questions swirl in an ever busy mind. It's a natural path I think. Some minds are stronger than others and manage to keep such thoughts at bay.  Not my mind, no matter how hard I try.

Then came the consultation and the advice, post x-ray showing no "Wayne Rooney" fifth metatarsel breaks, to take up aqua jogging and lay off running for three weeks. Suddenly, celebration mode kicks in. Doom and gloom has turned to a small ray of sunshine cresting over the horizon. Perhaps my Ironman career isn't over. Perhaps I just might make it. 

Now the excitement brews for a new experiment in the pool. Me and my flotation belt take the the deep waters of the musty pool at lunch time.  Suddenly profoundly aware of how much like a dreadmill this is. Running with no place to go. Then that thought is trumped by the sudden rise in heart rate and the awareness that this lark is quite tiring. Perhaps there's hope at the end of the fitness tunnel!

This morning the legs were appropriately fatigued, as if I had actually gone for a long jog. Quite the fascinating result from a short 35 minutes of aqua jogging. Now, if I could just shed this cold, everything can start heading back to normal. 

More torture is due this weekend. Three long hours on the indoor trainer should provide the appropriate amount of menotony to force state secrets out of any international spy. At least at home I get a good movie to pass the time. On the road you have to make do and sometimes that involves a blank wall and a pool of sweat.

Here's hoping for a pain free week and a quick recovery!

Good luck to us all!

Set Backs

The dictionary states that the definition of a set back is "an unanticipated or sudden check in progress; a change from better to worse". That's how it felt yesterday whilst they slid me in to the MRI for a scan on my right ankle.

The news hasn't sunk in just yet. Next week, a trip to the specialists office in the order of the day. A discussion will be held about how to progress with my "quite damaged" ankle. You know it's bad when you haven't even parked the car back in your garage having just returned from the MRI when the phone rings with the unwelcome results.

3 damaged tendons. One "missing" ligament. Bone fragments floating around. That's the generalization of the situation. How did this all happen? Well, the fear is that it occurred during a game of soccer/football about 6 weeks ago. Probably weakened due to the numerous ankle rolls during my youth. Add in the full amount of training that has occurred over the last 3 years. The odd element is that there hasn't been any pain up until that fateful game about 6 weeks previous. Not a sign. Yet, it would appear that the ankle could have been primed to go.

Frankly, it's all irrelevant now. The specialist will give the full, unedited view next Wednesday with all the available options. Surgery would put a serious damper on the season, but may be the best option. I will fight to keep that option at the bottom and strive to repair my ankle with the minimal of invasion. That said, it may be a losing battle at this stage. 

Napoleon said yesterday that there is more to life than an Ironman. It is indeed an addictive lifestyle. However, this disadvantage needs to be turned to an advantage. Swimming will be the focus for now. Lots of available hours to improve upon the efficiency of stroke and all that bollocks! It must be seen as another step in the education of life, filling that bag full of experience.

Good luck to us all (my ankle in particular)!