Ouch!

I took ShockAbsorber D+ Level 4 36F for a trial run yesterday. Well, jog. Well, sort of fast paced walking with a hoppity motion. Well, hobble.

You see last week I spent considerable time at the allotment and in the front garden digging. In wellies. Which are well-known for their lack of foot arch support. When trying to extract an ancient rose bush from the front garden, one with a root system that reaches to somewhere just outside Watford, I felt something go 'ping' in the region of my left calf. Didn't give it a second thought. My pants were still up, so it wasn't the knicker elastic giving out, and that's all a girl really needs to worry about isn't it? So I carried on digging, creating a two foot wide moat around this damn rose bush's root system, but I couldn't get it to shift. I balanced on the top of the fork and bounced up and down. The root moved a bit. My ankle pinged again.

Eventually, I gave up and went inside for some lunch. It was only when I tried to stand after resting for half an hour or so that I realised I had A PROBLEM. My left ankle had seized up. The pain was somewhere between burning achiness and complete agony.

Yes, I had torn my Achilles tendon. (I know this; I had a consultation with the vet aka Andy. Always go to a vet. They train longer than doctors and lift you onto the couch rather than making you get up there yourself. Just watch where they aim the thermometer, that's all.)

It eased up over the weekend. Gentle walking, swimming, no problem. A bit twingy, but hey, I've given birth twice and sat through some excrutiatingly bad GCSE Drama exam performances, the discomfort was nothing I couldn't handle.

So into the sun I went yesterday avec my new jogging bottoms (size 14 no less. Get me!!), a cotton vest top, my red fleece, old trainers that will do for now and new bra which rendered me momentarily unable to breathe, it was so snug. I marched down the road to the back entrance to the park because I have discovered a place I can run where NO-ONE else will see me. It's a rugby pitch out the back of the leisure centre and very rarely is there another soul in sight. Perfect!

The jogging plan I wanted to try is called the '60 Second Plan.' Basically , you start by running for 60 seconds, then brisk walk for 3 minutes, and repeat 4 times. By the end of 10 weeks, you should be running for 3 minutes and brisk walking for 60 seconds repeated 10 times.
'I can do that,' I thought, visions of me leaping like a fleet footed gazelle around the rugby pitch, scattering a basket of rose petals in my wake like some sort of woodland nymph.

I reached the rugby pitch. Did a couple of bendy stretchy exercises. And, looking v. professional with my water bottle in my hand, glanced at my watch and set off for '60 second run' x 1. Within 40 seconds, something in my ankle went 'ping.'

Aaaaaaarrrggghhhhhhhh....and...OUCH-KI-BIBBLE!!!!

The sensible thing at this point would have been to STOP and CRAWL HOME.

But this is me we're talking about. Tenacious me. Determined me. Woman-who-posts-a- photo-on-the-Interweb-of-herself-wearing-a-large-brassiere-on-her-head-me. I'm hardly likely to do the sensible thing, am I??

Oh no. I hobble on and complete the first day 60 second training session. I limp home, gritting my teeth through the pain. I collapse on the sofa with ankle on hot water bottle. I get up from sofa. I can't walk. And the rest of the day is spent limping extravagantly around the house like a 95 year old with their foot riveted to a paving slab. Getting up and down stairs was very interesting.

So my plans to start jogging this week have been scuppered for a few days. I managed a swim this morning with the aid of pain killers and sobbing wildly through the agony.

But you'll be pleased to know the bra worked very well. Big tick, gold star 10/10. No pinging tendon issues in that department.