"Did you say...'ex-leper'?"
"That's right, sir. Sixteen years behind the bell, and proud of it, sir."
"Well, what happened?"
"I was cured, sir."
"Cured?"
"Yes, sir, a bloody miracle, sir. God bless you."
"Who cured you?"
"Jesus did, sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business. All of a sudden, up he comes. Cures me. One minute I'm a leper with a trade, next minute my livelyhood's gone. Not so much as a by your leave. 'You're cured mate.' Bloody do-gooder."
Monty Python's Life of Brian...obviously.
So, I woke up this morning and gleefully hopped out of bed at 5am like I do every Monday morning. A beaming smile across my face as I fill the room with a lungful of morning breath, singing, "It's Monday, it's Monnnnnday. It's time to go to work!"
Disclaimer: Not everything contained in this blog is factually correct.
I started doing my morning dance towards the clean pants drawer, twirling an imaginary cane and imagining myself in a glittery top hat and tails, when all of a once I stopped in my tracks, one leg out of my pyjamas, and gasped. No pain!
"Me 'ip...by jobe, it's a miracle! Me knee an' all."
I shook my wife awake so she could share in my elation. I must've caught her in the middle of a bad dream because she punched me.
After seven days of spiralling back out of control, it seems that Scotty has got the warp drive ticking over again. That's a Star Trek reference. I'm going to leave them alone from now on because I've never watched it and don't know what I'm talking about. That doesn't usually stop me, but I'm writing on the internet so I'm technically in their world (the trekkies) and they may appear meeky, geeky and as soft as nightgowns in person, but whoa! can they pack a wallop in the comment box for the slightest misrepresentation of their gospel.
What I'm trying to say in a typical round-the-houses manner is that, against all the odds (self-assessment) I feel like I'm almost good to go again.
Even yesterday, I took my littl'un to the park and my hip was tugging away like a pitbull on a short lead and the knee was prattling on about it's problems like my brain is a bloody samaritan. On the way home, littl'un decided she'd had enough of conciousness for the morning so she conked out there and then on her little tricycle, leaving me to carry her and push that thing for half a mile.
It's a one-way deal, this parenthood. I can't remember the last time she offered to carry me.
Carrying her is like carrying a giant sack of sprouts. I'm trying to support her, but parts of her body I didn't even know she had manage to sag their way through the slightest gap. So I'm hunched over like I've been kicked by a horse, trying to steer this bloody trike and trying not to drop my daughter (in that order, that trike cost me £60) with pains shooting up from my legs that could've held the rhythm for an Oompah band. Oooh! Argh! Oooh! Argh!
Hence why this morning seems like a bit of a miracle.
My thighs are a bit stiff, front and back, but I've cancelled my Amazon order for an electric wheelchair. No longer shall I walk like a straightened-out Quasimodo.
I'm not going to strap myself back into my lycra just yet (I've run out of goose fat for a start), I'll keep constant watch over myself for another day and if all goes well, BOOM! I'll be back out gracing the harbour walk with my wobbling. Week four-ing away (maybe go back to week three), chalking off those runs...I could probably run a marathon! I'll have to mentally pick out my novelty costume. I'm thinking...Sumo suit. If I get too hot, I can just finish the run naked.
Tomorrow run! Wednesday gym, Thursday run, Friday gym...
...I don't do 'learning lessons'.
Happy running, boys and girls!
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