So, not being traditionally active (most of life spent horizontal on a couch), I am not well versed in the pains associated with a moving body. But, in some bizarre twist of
alien possession fate, for the last 18 months I’ve been moving up from a slow lumber through a brisk walk and now to a proudly happy joggle.
The bugger is, that I’m not sure what is acceptable in terms of pain. I’m not confident I know the difference between stiffness and the re-animation-of-lard pain and oh-fuck-I’ve-broken-something pain. And being of high pain threshhold, this could be a serious problem.
So I pottered off to the Virgin No-so-reactive front desk and casually enquired about the sharp pains running down my leg between my shin and my calf muscle.
Secretly delighted to discover I might have my first “sports injury” (my mother actually laughed out loud) I was somewhat less delighted to discover that shin splints are caused by “going to hard, too fast” or by bad shoes.
Cue a puerile giggle from yours truly and then a raised eyebrow and a firm “unlikely” to the former option. I wish!
So it’s the shoes then. Dolce looks down at beautiful brand new adiddas trainers, fortunately won, and not bought. You bastards.
So I asked a few less physically challenged mates (who run marathons and stuff. Ejits.) how one goes about working out what are good shoes. They referred to the Sports Science Institute for a shoe assessment. It’s got a fancy technical name, um…. Running injury Prevention System…. but shoe assessment suits me fine.
So I go. For R145 some bouncy girlie makes me do weird things and run up and down a corridor before chirpily announcing that that my current shoes are crap and that I’ll need to buy new ones.
So I take her little assessment form and potter down to the sports shop thingie. And hand the little assessment form over to some man who looks like he’s never done a days exercise in his life. He gushes enthusiastically about a new range that is on special for 20 gazillion rand. I raise a very disinterested and disdainful eyebrow (I am so fukkin’ sick to death of sales men. Sick Sick Sick!). He sheepishly takes me to another rack. I buy shoes. My credit card whimpers and curls up in the foetal position.
Great. So now I can train without feeling like the Little Mermaid.
So I get up bright and early. Pop onto the dreadmill. And run. It’s feeling good. Until it’s not. And what feels like a large splinter starts bothering my foot. So, I try and run through the pain. Can’t. Get off dreadmill and take shoe off. And spot a large, gigantic, enormous blister.
Finish training and go home.
Try again the next day. Blister now covers most of the sole of my foot. I’m literally walking on water. And it hurts. Like buggery. (Or so I’m told)
So I phone shoe assessment lady and she burbles and chirps something about my feet getting used to the shoes and how I should wear them around the house until I’ve worn them in.
In the meantime, I twiddle my thumbs, unable to train the way I want to, just hoping that the problem is just one of if-the-shoe-doesn’t-fit. But surely, surely, these days, trainers shouldn’t give you blisters? On the soles of your feet. And I’m cynical, I know, but this feeling of being had just won’t go away. And I’m hoping it’s just my ignorance of all things joggle related.
Because I can’t afford another fukkin’ pair of shoes. Or another two weeks out of routine.