Here we are at Week 17. I honestly thought this would be the stage where I’d fling the duvet off, hop out of bed, and glide into a gentle slow jog — or at least a confident shuffle.
But nope. Not even close.
From a distance, it looks like I’m walking now. People probably think I’m grand. But if you zoom in past the giant wedged shoe, the extra wedges inside the wedge, the padding, and the two pairs of socks gripping my foot like a hostage situation, real life is… hard…still.
The rehab? I foolishly thought these sessions would ease off. Maybe one gentle, civilised session a day.
But no. Three a day now. And they’re getting harder. Every time I get through one, another one pops up like,
“HI, IT’S ME AGAIN! READY TO SWEAT?!”
And then — because apparently the universe loves a plot twist — I get diagnosed with an ulcer.
An ulcer. From the anti-inflammatories I’ve been taking to help the pain.
Honestly, did I need to sign a waiver for this?
“Warning: may cause ulcers while you recover from your ruptured tendon.”
Because I did NOT sign up for the two-for-the-price-of-one deals. I only wanted the rupture. I never ordered the ulcer on the side.
And let’s put this in perspective: 119 days ago I was running, doing Pilates, feeling, healthy, and thinking life was pretty straightforward. Now? I’m hobbling around like a dodgy zombie, three rehab sessions a day, wedges and socks stacked like armour, and nursing an ulcer. Oh, how life changes… so very, very quickly.
And as if life weren’t dramatic enough already — you won’t actually believe this — my daughter came home from training with a leg so sore she could barely walk. Next morning? Off to A&E. Diagnosis: ligament damage. So there we were, mother and daughter, both on crutches, limping through the hospital like some kind of tragic comedy duo. People in the waiting room staring at us like, “What on earth did these two do?
Honestly, watching her, it hits me how tough it is for someone so young to go through this. Every step is a challenge, every movement a careful negotiation, and yet she’s brave, stoic, and silently cursing the universe like a tiny, injured warrior. And there I am, hobbling beside her and grimacing in solidarity.
So yes. Week 17. Still wobbling, still wincing, still trying to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And if you need me, I’ll be over here, hoping the next plot twist is a bit more boring, please.
