Eighteen no more - part 2

I recently had cause to visit a Chiropractor – splendid chap, Robin, who practices the McTimoney method of the form.  It’s less invasive than the traditional approach and doesn’t leave you feeling like you’ve paid to have your condition worsened.

The visit was prompted by one of our early morning workout sessions at Dawn Breakers (DB), a high intensity, interval training (HIIT) programme that Mrs GOM, Daughter of GOM (D of G), and I attend each weekday morning.  My injury stemmed from performing an exercise that mirrored the butterfly swimming stroke.  I was perhaps a little too enthusiastic in my approach, making great progress across the mat.  Although, as our instructor, Charlie, pointed out as I withdrew from the class writhing in pain, we were not in a pool, I should have been stationary.

The corollary to this athletic endeavour was that when standing straight, my spine resembled a boomerang.  I suffer periodic episodes of popping my back that don’t normally require intervention, but on this occasion, the injury’s preference was to linger more than usual.  Reg, a fellow DBer, recommended the ‘spine cracker’ and I’m rather pleased he did.  I’m now standing tall once more; 5’ 4” oxymoron aside.

As the weeks have passed, I find myself wondering whether I should pay Robin another visit.  My challenge though, is to prioritise the body part that I would have him adjust.  I’m not sure if I should begin with my left arm, where I find myself nursing a persistent muscle strain.  Muscles aren’t really his bag, but I do wonder if he could do something about my right arm and wrist.  Alcohol-induced sprains to both of those serve as public health warnings against binge drinking and Dad dancing; independently both should be avoided, when combined, the results can be lethal.

My knees, however, are not victims of excess, unless that’s excess of time.  Both routinely feel like they could do with a healthy dose of WD40.  Mrs GOM suggests that I should take cod liver oil, but I worry that the hips will snaffle it before it gets down as far as the knees.  They’re not troubling me … yet; but I fear it’s only a matter of time.  In the meantime, what I could use is a small aperture in each knee into which I could pour oil directly.

Further down, I did think that I might be developing a touch of arthritis in my big toe, but that appears to have disappeared.  It was probably just the stubbing it received on my return to bed one night during my regular mid-sleep visits to the loo.  I’m a little slow on the uptake, but I suspect that drinking a herbal tea designed to improve one’s sleep immediately before going to bed, is probably what’s waking me to pee.

As well as the increasing incidence of aches and pains, I have noticed a marked decline in my flexibility.  In our HIIT classes, there is a stretch that requires us to keep legs straight and touch the floor.  Where once I would have found this comparatively easy, I now find the requirements mutually exclusive.  I can reach the floor with a pronounced bending of the (creaking) knees, or I can keep my legs straight and tap away on my shins.  It doesn’t help that D of G is alongside me when doing this and has the palms of her hands firmly placed on the floor with her legs ramrod straight – that used to be me.

When I was 18, a work colleague and I visited the gym during lunchtimes to supplement the football that we both played.  I was lean, fit and found exercise easy.  One of the company executives, who was probably the age I am now, would also be there each day, dragging his exceedingly bulky frame onto a treadmill, generating a phenomenal sweat, as he ran for thirty minutes.  We found it impossible to reconcile his results with the effort – he remained a puddin’.

Whilst I have dropped a few pounds since I started DB a year ago, the slower metabolic rates of today’s GOM now make me appreciate why the fella on the treadmill was the fittest fat bloke I knew.  It’s bloody hard to shift those pounds, which poses a wee problem for me next week.

You won’t hear from me as I’m taking time off to go cycling with some buddies in the Swiss Alps.  Although I missed it last year, it’s something I’ve done every year since my mid-life crisis manifested in a desire to wear lycra.  This year, as we head to Andermatt to cycle up mountains that don’t remotely resemble the rolling hills of West Berkshire, where we’ll travel distances each day that are greater than my current weekly average, I will find myself carrying more weight to the foot of each climb than ever before.  It hardly needs mentioning, but this is not a good thing, even if much of it is now muscle.  It’s great for the descent, as a surprised motorcyclist I once passed on Col du Galibier will attest, but it’s a bit shite on the way up.

I do hope my fellow cyclists are exceptionally patient.  They might find themselves with a little time on their hands as they wait for me at the top.

Twitter: @GOMinTraining
Copyright © Craig Brown, 2019
14 June 2019