My back went again on Sunday during five-a-side football. Ten minutes in. It’s a muscle strain which goes a couple of times a year and when it does I know immediately. I went straight off and pressed myself against a wall to wait for the medical miracle that would allow me to play the second half.
At half-time I talked about giving it a few minutes, see how it goes.
“Don’t bother mate,” said Dave, who recently spent eight weeks out with a calf injury. “You’ll wreck it.”
Ian, who was playing his first game for a month after ankle problems, rummaged around in his bag and offered me a choice of Ibruprofen tablets, Ibruprofen gel or Deep Heat. “It’s ok,” I said. “I’ve got all that at home. And diazepam.”
“Yeah, good stuff diazepam,” said Paddy, who is ten years older than most of us and has suffered his own chronic lower back problems for at least the last five. “Couple of those and a few beers, you’ll have a lovely afternoon. Watch the cricket. Just don’t for f**ks sake try to play on.”
They were right, of course. If you’ve played football with any group for any length of time you’ll know that nobody ever really changes their playing style, they just get gradually slower and craftier. Ian is a combative, elbowy dribbler, Dave is a selfish goalhanger and Paddy is a beautiful, calm playmaker. I watched through the glass as they started the second half without me. Even though I only played ten minutes it was enough to drench my kit in sweat and it would all have to be washed as after a proper game. I will be essentially crippled for a couple of days. It doesn’t matter, there are far worse kinds of pain.
18 comments:
the pain of reading a Dan Brown novel?
You sicko, worm.
'My back went again'. I think this is the only injury that feels like an intimate estrangement. We love our backs - they very nearly comprise the whole of us - but they do sometimes prove unknowably fickle.
How's that for pseudery, eh?
Hope you feel better soon. Yoga and kettle-belling, in that order, sorted mine out.
Brit - your pa has a kettlebell and I have a Belling kettle. Take your pick.
I'll have a nice cup of tea, I reckon.
Good for you. You'll be getting enough exercise in the next few months.
Swap your back for my left knee.
Brit, at the risk of teaching grannie to suck eggs, find yourself a decent sports physio, the money will be well spent, must be a good one though.
In the distant past I had a crevasse fall followed by a 13 kilometer trek off the glacier and back to civilization,
Back home with a crook knee I was told by the sawbones then an NHS physio that I would never climb again, f..k you pair of tossers I thought, did some homework and found a good private sports physio whose client base included the St James Park boyos. After some weeks of treatment and a remortgage or two I was back in pristine condition and have climbed ever since.
The moral of the story..as far as sports related problems are concernd...NHS = bad, private = good.
Did you ever notice that no man has ever said any of the following:
"I was carrying the laundry up stairs when my back went out."
"I was bending over to take a roast out of the oven when my knee gave in."
"Oh, that's an old injury from when I slipped in the tub. I'll be fine in a few minutes."
It's the remortgage element of it that would worry me, Malty. Mind you I'm with you on private v NHS. Had a persistent and unreasonably painful ingrown toenail problem once (again following a football injury). NHS completely hopeless, months of agony... got fed up, went private - fixed in one simple operation.
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Btw - you do all realise this post wasn't about back pain?
I did think this was about your back. Can't believe how stupid I was.
Very sorry to hear about your rupture. I have an old truss if it's of any use.
Ah, thanks Dick.
I posted on your blog earlier but it failed to get past your (possibly North Korean) security and censorship barriers.
You surely are not suggesting that having written the post gives you any special status in deciding what it's about, are you?
Somebody's been on campus too long, David.
Bloody deconstructionists.
Thanks Brit. I've disabled that lousy word verification. Makes no difference since I have to moderate all comments since I was attacked by the Red Chinese.
BTW: I've had Judy wash the truss, just in case you still need it.
Brit, David reminds me of Anthony Blanche asking Charles Ryder to show him his paintings "so I can tell you what they are about."
This post sums up nicely the haphazard/random/rambling/erratic/manic/varying/puzzling mish mash that is the blogging oven...
footie/injury/post/comment/pseudery/trussery/belling kettle (gas or electric) /bending over and removing the roast, there's a picture for you/bleedin Dan sodding Brown, off to the pub with the lot of you.
I always suspected that bloke off the telly had been attacked by somebody, always thought it was John Inman.
Yep, that's the way we like it, Malty.
And Peter - heh heh, yes. I must remember to use that one in real life.
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