My body hates me, which, if you look at the detestable things I've made it do over the years you can almost understand its quiet disdain and disgust of me.
I always thought we got on, my body and me. It was a dysfunctional relationship yes, I would get upset at certain sizes and curves my body had, and in turn, my body would reply,
"Well the size of your cock you can blame on your parents and the basic principals of genetics. As for being rotund, do some exercise and eat less shit you fat fuck"
But like any healthy union we were bonded together for eternity, because we didn't have a choice in the matter.
But now my body has gone too far, its stubborn and uncooperative actions have seriously put my marathon running hopes on the line. I have acute and constant pain in my left calf muscle every time I step down on my left leg to propel myself forward. Something you have to do quite a lot when you run,
"It's your own fucking fault you fucking mug" is the only thing my body says when I try to raise the matter with it,
"You can't swan around expecting to run 6 minute miles after you've done fuck all for 5 months, and then when we give you initial warning signals, don't fucking ignore them and carry on running! of course you're going to do more damage to yourself you wanker"
I had broken the first rule, always listen to what your body tells you, if you're in pain, stop. If you get fat, stop eating. If you're tired, go to sleep. If your penis gets sore, maybe try to curtail the 5 hour tantric wanks you treat yourself to on your day off. That sort of thing.
So I have been off the road, off my leg, and onto the couch. For a week I couldn't even climb stairs. The bitter irony of this whole situation is my usual love of doing precisely nothing. Being forced onto the couch because I can't walk would have been my go to option over anything, but now I am restless and depressed. Time's ticking away, and I'm not physically anywhere near ready to finish at the time I want, and that bothers me. It bothers me so much that I can't sleep, the thought of failure fills me with anger and indignation, and I hate myself for being so stupid, to be blinded by an obsession to beat my old time, and to ensure that I go faster than someone else.
I begin to run out of patience and decide to go and try some acupuncture and massage to try to relive the pain. Having never experienced the joy of loads of tiny needles thrust into my body, I am a little hesitant, but I've got to do something, so off I go.
The Chinese quack sits me lays me down, does some prodding and poking around my leg then says,
"Yes, your back very bad, we going to start there"
"But it's me leg that hurts"
"Yes" he says, then walks out of the room. I wonder if he's confused me with another patient, or if, in his anciently wise way, he's located the problem from my spine downwards. I begin to marvel at how complicated the body is, and how fascinating it is that a pain in my lower leg can be caused by something in my back.
1 hour and £90 later I float out of the place feeling excellent. I've had 40 minutes of relaxing massage and the sensation of tiny needles letting the pressure escape my body is wonderful,
"Now you must buy this medicine, and we do treatment 7 times to fix problem in your back and your leg" the quack is on me like a charity mugger in Covent Garden,
"If we don't do treatment, it's very bad for you"
I'm still in la la land from the massage, the heat, the needles, and the soothing music, my head's all over the place, but the fact that I've just been given the hard sell to procure some herbal tea, herbal leg wrap, and another 6 session of this, wakes me out of my soft cocoon, and straight into 'he's trying to cheat me' mode,
"I have got to do the marathon in 4 weeks, I don't have time to do this, or the money" I say, the quacks eyes light up!
"The marathon! oooo! Then we do double course! you come in 3 times a week! you need more medicine!" as he reaches for another boxes of the herbal stuff,
"no, no. I'll have one more session then see how we go"
I bound purposefully out of the shop and into the shopping centre, by the time I finish my shop in Sainsburys my leg's started hurting again. Motherfucking Motherfuckering Fuck Fuck!
After another week of rest and stretching I still can't shake this pain, and the start date looms over me like a massive black cloud, a bit like the wall of black in 'the 5th element'
I see the doctor and get a referral, then I find the best sports physiotherapist in London and book myself in. He takes one look at me, pulls my leg, cracks a few bones, cracks my back, then basically manually loosens all of my leg muscles by applying huge, agonizing pressure to my buttocks using only his thumb. If you want to have any idea of how painful this is give it a go on yourself, or perhaps a lover while they lie next to you.
From there he basically rips my legs to bits, then massages it all back in again,
"So, basically what you've done is torn the calf just a little, then you've also twisted your pelvis a bit there as well, then the alignment of your legs are off because your body has been leaning to one side to compensate, which has then caused more pressure and pain in this leg. And you've carried on running through this then have you?"
"Yes" I meekly replied.
"Then you're a fucking idiot then aren't you? The good news is that I've done your pelvis, and once the achy feeling has gone you should feel a little off balance as you correct yourself, but the pain should be gone, and we'll have you back to running by Tuesday, and you'll definitely be able to run the marathon"
I am so happy that for a brief second I consider noshing him off as a thank you, but I'll be seeing him for another few sessions so I decide not to fellate him to orgasm just that second.
Maybe after the marathon.
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