Well, I’ve been a bit quiet on the blog front because I’ve not been able to go out and let my chubby legs embrace the fine sport of running. I’ve had to have physio and do all sorts of lovely exercises to build up the strength in my legs. The physio said I had to put running on hold until my legs were big and strong and who am I to argue with someone who hurts you whilst ‘making you better’.
My injuries are my fault to be fair – I had invested in a pair of running shoes without getting them tested for suitability. After wearing them for 3 months; and subsequently improving on my endurance and distance therefore running for longer, my inner calves were killing and when I put any weight on my left knee I had a shooting pain down my leg – it felt like I had put 50kg on my back and knelt on a piece of Lego. Yes. It was that painful.
The Dr confirmed I needed to see the brilliant guys at the musculoskeletal department at Burnley General. I have a bit of a love hate relationship with them, as I thoroughly embarrassed myself when I got my first referral in April 2018. I was a little bit scared to go back in case my mugshot was in the staff room under the list of ‘Patients that should not be treated’. Let me take you back to April 2018…
I had just started running, I was doing Couch 2 5km and I was struggling – I had never ran before and my knees felt it. In fact, every inch and joint felt it. After I had completed my first park run, I couldn’t move my left hip at all. The Dr could feel my hip clicking when he moved it. He told me that clicking hips are quite common; but the pain that I was experiencing wasn’t. He also told me that all my joints were super flexible, and I finally felt like I was good at something. He sent me for x-rays and if that showed nothing obvious a session with the physio to see if they could help.
The x-rays came back fine and with the go ahead from my Dr I was told to wait for my first physio appointment. Not much time passed and I received a phone call with my first appointment the following week – I asked if I needed to do/take anything in particular and I was told all the information would be sent to me in the post. My appointment was at 8am on a Tuesday morning and I was thrilled to ribbons with that – it meant I wouldn’t be late for work or have to have much time out of the office.
Now, the most important thing to take from that last paragraph is that I was told I would receive all the information in the post. I never did.
The morning of physio came, I put a pair of navy work trousers on (I had lost some weight so they were just a little baggy) a pair of converse and a pale pink t-shirt. Nothing special. The critical detail in my choice of clothing though was my underwear; now I’m not ashamed to say I do own a collection of really old Granny pants. They are the comfiest things in the world. Ladies – do you hear me? The no longer white, come up to your nipples, small holes around the waist band comfy knickers that just end up being too treasured to throw away because sometimes we all need to wear them with pride. Now these sort of undies make up about 25% of my knicker drawer and on this delightful Tuesday I decided to put on the greyest, most tattered and comfiest pair I own. What a disaster that choice was.
I got to the physio department and everyone in the waiting room was donned in shorts or some glorious sports attire. I was obviously not. A young chap called me through and asked me for the lifestyle questionnaire that I had received in the post and needed to complete prior to my first appointment. This is when it also dawned on me I had to wear clothes suitable for the appointment. I had no idea, nor had I even been to appointment like this. The only option moving forward was to be examined without my trousers on; with my exceptional choice of underwear on show. Not only did he have my bending my legs in all directions on the examination bed, he had me demonstrate my running technique in the room that resembled the Sports Hall from my High School. My worse nightmare had come true. I was going to ask if there was a lost kit box to see if I could borrow some sweaty old shorts that were never claimed and have probably not ben washed in 23 years – but it was too late. My trousers and my dignity were no longer around to be seen. I hadn’t even shaved my legs or neatened my bikini line for the occasion. I did turn up to my second appointment in suitable attire. For those who aren’t interested but I’m going to tell you anyway; my hip was ok. I had just done too much too soon and it was my body’s way of saying ‘Yo Fatty, take it easy son. We’re not used to this.’ So I did. My hips loved me again.
Back to this year and my new running shoebies. The physio confirmed that the running shoes I had ordered weren’t giving my feet the support they needed. Due to the lack of support my arches had collapsed, and as a consequence of continuing to run I had lost all strength in my quads. My knees were taking all the pressure as my quads weren’t and my calves had no idea what they were doing. I have to wear insoles and I have had special exercises to complete to start to rebuild my strength in the quads. I’m currently looking for slippers for people with collapsed arches, because I live in slippers at home and I can definitely feel the difference when I’m not wearing my shoes with the insoles in. I’m 31 and falling to bits, but hey – what a time to be alive!
Oh, and I didn’t have to strip this time in physio. I wore the appropriate clothing and I think I may have redeemed myself.
Run, Fat Girl, Run! 