It's winter. Another summer has gone: no racing, no fitness, no epic adventures. So once more my winter training starts with good intentions. The last time my winter training started it lasted all of two weeks before I blew my left knee and was out with injury for 15 months.
That's not going to happen this time. I'm building up slowly with 10 hour weeks. Even though I've been ill this week I've clocked up six and a half hours thus far. Another 3 tomorrow will have me just where I want to be.
Things are going well. Feeling good. Legs are used to riding every day. Big plans for next year. Bring it!
God I love bikes.
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Friday, 22 November 2013
Thursday, 16 July 2009
10 Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib
After some extensive research over the last couple of months, all in the name of medical advancement of course, I've been compiling the definitive list of top ten things not to do with a broken rib. Some of these things have been stumbled upon in the course of everyday life, others have been pursued purely to benefit humankind so that others in a similar state of disrepair will not attempt such acts.
So, here it is, MountainBikeGirl's Top Ten Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib:
10) Get up, finish the lap and work for the following 2 days at a bike race - this will just extend the period of adrenaline fuelled painlessness and will ultimately compound the inevitable discomfort experienced when finally the 'morning after' arrives.
9) Paint the landing ceiling. This can and does in fact include painting any ceiling. I don't know why I thought painting the bathroom ceiling would be any less painful than painting the landing ceiling, or the stairwell, because it isn't.
8) Clear out the loft. Frustrated at not being able to paint anything or do DIY, it seemed like a good time to clear out the loft - because obviously pushing heavy boxes up through a small gap in the ceiling whilst hanging onto a ladder is totally different to painting the ceiling. I can now state with a certain amount of fact that these two seemingly very different tasks do actually involve similar movements of the rib cage and upper body muscle usage and both result in rib pain.
7) Rearrange the shed. Defeated in my attempt to clear out the loft, there was only one thing left to do - tidy up the shed, something I've been meaning to do for 18 months. Why would this be a problem? There's no reaching or stretching, hardly any upper body movement at all, it's just moving some old paint tins surely. No. My shed is full of bikes, boxes and cumbersome items. Moving anything, even slightly, involved a one-footed, unbalanced stretch to reach the intended item, whilst holding on to an unstable, precariously placed object exactly an arm and a fingernails length away. Once again this task was rapidly abandoned in the now familiar pose of right arm dangling and left hand holding rib.
6) Go Trail-Blazing. Quite often the event work involves finding new bits of trail or course to use. Nervous of riding anyway I was quite happy to get off and walk down anything I was unsure of. Sadly this was made all the more difficult by using a new set of pedals that aren't 100% compatible with SPD cleats whilst riding over rough, boggy grassland. I persevered until the fourth 'stuck in my pedals' fall, which also happened to be the first time I fell to the broken rib side, and called it a day. Sometimes, it's just not worth it.
5) Chopping down trees/machete work. Although I'm naturally a lefty, I'm distinctly more accurate with a machete when using my right hand. This means that a branch or sapling that would normally take 3 or 4 attacks using my right hand, takes about twice as many using my left - obviously resulting in more upper body work and more rib movement. So, do you take the chance and do less work with the more accurate but damaged side, or more work with the less accurate, intact side? Answer: play the "I'm just a girl" card and get a bloke to do it for you...
4) Lift metal crowd barriers onto the back of a truck. You'd have thought by now I'd have figured out the whole 'heavy-lifting, stretching, moving' combo was a no-no. It's amazing how an injury like this makes you aware of how much work your ribs and core are always doing.
3) Get a two-wheel drive quad stuck in 3ft of mud with no tow rope of any kind, in the middle of a forest, miles from the arena with no radios or mobile phones, just as it's getting dark with two escape options: a) I stay in the woods by myself in the dark with the quad while Paul takes the other quad to go and get help, or b) I drive the other quad back to get help, taking a route that either involves lying on the floor for 20 minutes with my hand up a gate post trying to undo the stiffest padlock in the world or taking a tricky off-road route and lifting two sets of Harris fencing out of the way. I tried both, after 20 minutes and huge amounts of shouting and swearing I gave up on the padlock and risked the unknown route. Over an hour later I arrived back with a tow rope and within 5 minutes the quad was free and we were all heading home.
2) Mow a 4ft high, uneven "lawn" covered in sticks and twigs with a flymo. Less of a flymo on this occasion, more of a liftmo - with me having to hold it in mid-air to get it to cut the grass whilst skimming over the covering of sticks left over from cutting down the 60ft Ash tree earlier this year. After 3 hours I'd managed to cut an 8ft square patch in the middle, the edges would have to wait, another few months wouldn't hurt and cutting the lawn twice a year is more than enough in my eyes!
And finally, the number one thing not to do with a broken rib:
1) Attempt to walk the full 180 mile length of the Offa's Dyke Trail in 6 days. Never has my body experienced such complete and utter shut down in a final and crippling statement of defiance. It had had enough. It was barely coping with what I'd been asking it to do for the last 5 weeks and this was just a step too far, literally. I'd made it through the first day, 30 miles carrying a full pack, but had started feeling dizzy and light headed towards the end. I put it down to not eating and drinking enough and was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I wasn't, nausea and blurred vision put an abrupt halt to the epic adventure after just 9 miles. I sobbed as Tony and the lads walked off into the distance and I promptly collapsed in a heap by the side of the road in Pandy - pale, shaking and weak with a throbbing pain in my rib. "So there!" my body screamed at me, "I tried to warn you, you wouldn't listen, and now look at the lengths you've driven me to." Fair point I suppose.
So there you have it, 10 things that you really, really shouldn't try and do with a broken rib, and if you do, don't say you haven't been warned. But I hope my research hasn't been in vain and if this blog post makes just one person think twice about attempting any of these tasks, then my suffering will have been worth it. Stay safe out there kids... ;-)
So, here it is, MountainBikeGirl's Top Ten Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib:
10) Get up, finish the lap and work for the following 2 days at a bike race - this will just extend the period of adrenaline fuelled painlessness and will ultimately compound the inevitable discomfort experienced when finally the 'morning after' arrives.
9) Paint the landing ceiling. This can and does in fact include painting any ceiling. I don't know why I thought painting the bathroom ceiling would be any less painful than painting the landing ceiling, or the stairwell, because it isn't.
8) Clear out the loft. Frustrated at not being able to paint anything or do DIY, it seemed like a good time to clear out the loft - because obviously pushing heavy boxes up through a small gap in the ceiling whilst hanging onto a ladder is totally different to painting the ceiling. I can now state with a certain amount of fact that these two seemingly very different tasks do actually involve similar movements of the rib cage and upper body muscle usage and both result in rib pain.
7) Rearrange the shed. Defeated in my attempt to clear out the loft, there was only one thing left to do - tidy up the shed, something I've been meaning to do for 18 months. Why would this be a problem? There's no reaching or stretching, hardly any upper body movement at all, it's just moving some old paint tins surely. No. My shed is full of bikes, boxes and cumbersome items. Moving anything, even slightly, involved a one-footed, unbalanced stretch to reach the intended item, whilst holding on to an unstable, precariously placed object exactly an arm and a fingernails length away. Once again this task was rapidly abandoned in the now familiar pose of right arm dangling and left hand holding rib.
6) Go Trail-Blazing. Quite often the event work involves finding new bits of trail or course to use. Nervous of riding anyway I was quite happy to get off and walk down anything I was unsure of. Sadly this was made all the more difficult by using a new set of pedals that aren't 100% compatible with SPD cleats whilst riding over rough, boggy grassland. I persevered until the fourth 'stuck in my pedals' fall, which also happened to be the first time I fell to the broken rib side, and called it a day. Sometimes, it's just not worth it.
5) Chopping down trees/machete work. Although I'm naturally a lefty, I'm distinctly more accurate with a machete when using my right hand. This means that a branch or sapling that would normally take 3 or 4 attacks using my right hand, takes about twice as many using my left - obviously resulting in more upper body work and more rib movement. So, do you take the chance and do less work with the more accurate but damaged side, or more work with the less accurate, intact side? Answer: play the "I'm just a girl" card and get a bloke to do it for you...
4) Lift metal crowd barriers onto the back of a truck. You'd have thought by now I'd have figured out the whole 'heavy-lifting, stretching, moving' combo was a no-no. It's amazing how an injury like this makes you aware of how much work your ribs and core are always doing.
3) Get a two-wheel drive quad stuck in 3ft of mud with no tow rope of any kind, in the middle of a forest, miles from the arena with no radios or mobile phones, just as it's getting dark with two escape options: a) I stay in the woods by myself in the dark with the quad while Paul takes the other quad to go and get help, or b) I drive the other quad back to get help, taking a route that either involves lying on the floor for 20 minutes with my hand up a gate post trying to undo the stiffest padlock in the world or taking a tricky off-road route and lifting two sets of Harris fencing out of the way. I tried both, after 20 minutes and huge amounts of shouting and swearing I gave up on the padlock and risked the unknown route. Over an hour later I arrived back with a tow rope and within 5 minutes the quad was free and we were all heading home.
2) Mow a 4ft high, uneven "lawn" covered in sticks and twigs with a flymo. Less of a flymo on this occasion, more of a liftmo - with me having to hold it in mid-air to get it to cut the grass whilst skimming over the covering of sticks left over from cutting down the 60ft Ash tree earlier this year. After 3 hours I'd managed to cut an 8ft square patch in the middle, the edges would have to wait, another few months wouldn't hurt and cutting the lawn twice a year is more than enough in my eyes!
And finally, the number one thing not to do with a broken rib:
1) Attempt to walk the full 180 mile length of the Offa's Dyke Trail in 6 days. Never has my body experienced such complete and utter shut down in a final and crippling statement of defiance. It had had enough. It was barely coping with what I'd been asking it to do for the last 5 weeks and this was just a step too far, literally. I'd made it through the first day, 30 miles carrying a full pack, but had started feeling dizzy and light headed towards the end. I put it down to not eating and drinking enough and was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I wasn't, nausea and blurred vision put an abrupt halt to the epic adventure after just 9 miles. I sobbed as Tony and the lads walked off into the distance and I promptly collapsed in a heap by the side of the road in Pandy - pale, shaking and weak with a throbbing pain in my rib. "So there!" my body screamed at me, "I tried to warn you, you wouldn't listen, and now look at the lengths you've driven me to." Fair point I suppose.
So there you have it, 10 things that you really, really shouldn't try and do with a broken rib, and if you do, don't say you haven't been warned. But I hope my research hasn't been in vain and if this blog post makes just one person think twice about attempting any of these tasks, then my suffering will have been worth it. Stay safe out there kids... ;-)
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Go 'Til You Stop
The human body is an amazing thing. The capacity of the mind and body to work together just long enough to get through any given task will never cease to amaze me. The mind tells the body what it needs to do and how long for, gives it the strength to keep going, it even accounts for sleep (or sometimes lack of), factors in the temporary break in physical activity but keeps the body aware it hasn't finished just yet. The consequences of these types of events are never pretty though - often pushing yourself up to or beyond your physical limits.
Such an incident happened at the weekend. I was working on the second round of the British Mountain Bike Series up in Dalby Forest, Yorkshire. It was also a World Cup test event which added a slight bit of extra pressure to get everything spot on. I'd ridden the course first thing Thursday morning to get my bearings in the forest. To say it's the most technical cross-country course of the series is an understatement! Challenging and fun though and I was looking forward to actually racing on Sunday. Another practice ride on Friday on Olive the dekerf had me confident that I could clear all of the sections without a second thought.
The mistake I made though was not actually riding the course on my Ducati race bike that only turned up on Saturday morning. This was a grave error on my part and half way around the first lap on Sunday morning I hit the ground hard on a rooty drop-off section. After a long sit down I limped around to finish the lap, various body parts throbbing, and retreated to the back of my tent in pain. The ever insightful Martyn Salt approached and deduced very quickly from my abrupt single syllable answers to his concerned questions that I was far from alright but all I wanted was to be left alone to sob in peace and privacy.
A while later I reappeared in the arena with very few signs of the race ending dismount - just a graze or two on my legs. The large bruise on my hip, the graze on my backside, my throbbing right thigh and a pain in my ribs were invisible to the world. A limp gave it away slightly, as did the winces of pain every time I laughed or coughed. Still, there was work to be done for the rest of the event and I planned to just keep moving. Once I stopped, that would be it. And the anticipation of the morning after pain was motivation enough to get as much done on the day of the crash as possible.
Copious amounts of red wine helped me sleep on Sunday night. And here's the twist; Monday morning, although being the morning after, wasn't the end of the task. The plan had always been to stay on Monday and finish up. So I woke up a little stiffer than usual with some soreness in my neck, but actually rather surprised at the lack pain and ease of movement. Perhaps the crash hadn't been as bad as first imagined? Monday came and went and all the extra movement and walking hadn't made much of an impact on my aching bones. The task had finished, I had made it through, and made it home.
Tuesday is where it went wrong. Very, very wrong. My mind had finally told my body it could stop, relax and do what it needed to do to get back to normal. The excruciating pain I felt trying to get out of bed set the tone for the day - with every laugh, cough, sneeze and deep breath causing a sharp, almost unbearable pain in my rib. Even taking it easy didn't help as any core movement - getting off the sofa, bending down, standing up - causes a similar pain. I'm thinking cracked rib or muscle damage. Either way, there's no point going to hospital and there's nothing I can do except take it easy for a while. (And try not to laugh, cough, sneeze, breath too deeply or move.)
Such an incident happened at the weekend. I was working on the second round of the British Mountain Bike Series up in Dalby Forest, Yorkshire. It was also a World Cup test event which added a slight bit of extra pressure to get everything spot on. I'd ridden the course first thing Thursday morning to get my bearings in the forest. To say it's the most technical cross-country course of the series is an understatement! Challenging and fun though and I was looking forward to actually racing on Sunday. Another practice ride on Friday on Olive the dekerf had me confident that I could clear all of the sections without a second thought.
The mistake I made though was not actually riding the course on my Ducati race bike that only turned up on Saturday morning. This was a grave error on my part and half way around the first lap on Sunday morning I hit the ground hard on a rooty drop-off section. After a long sit down I limped around to finish the lap, various body parts throbbing, and retreated to the back of my tent in pain. The ever insightful Martyn Salt approached and deduced very quickly from my abrupt single syllable answers to his concerned questions that I was far from alright but all I wanted was to be left alone to sob in peace and privacy.
A while later I reappeared in the arena with very few signs of the race ending dismount - just a graze or two on my legs. The large bruise on my hip, the graze on my backside, my throbbing right thigh and a pain in my ribs were invisible to the world. A limp gave it away slightly, as did the winces of pain every time I laughed or coughed. Still, there was work to be done for the rest of the event and I planned to just keep moving. Once I stopped, that would be it. And the anticipation of the morning after pain was motivation enough to get as much done on the day of the crash as possible.
Copious amounts of red wine helped me sleep on Sunday night. And here's the twist; Monday morning, although being the morning after, wasn't the end of the task. The plan had always been to stay on Monday and finish up. So I woke up a little stiffer than usual with some soreness in my neck, but actually rather surprised at the lack pain and ease of movement. Perhaps the crash hadn't been as bad as first imagined? Monday came and went and all the extra movement and walking hadn't made much of an impact on my aching bones. The task had finished, I had made it through, and made it home.
Tuesday is where it went wrong. Very, very wrong. My mind had finally told my body it could stop, relax and do what it needed to do to get back to normal. The excruciating pain I felt trying to get out of bed set the tone for the day - with every laugh, cough, sneeze and deep breath causing a sharp, almost unbearable pain in my rib. Even taking it easy didn't help as any core movement - getting off the sofa, bending down, standing up - causes a similar pain. I'm thinking cracked rib or muscle damage. Either way, there's no point going to hospital and there's nothing I can do except take it easy for a while. (And try not to laugh, cough, sneeze, breath too deeply or move.)
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Enough now... no really
September has not been my month. Whilst some of my friends have been clocking up hundreds of miles, having fantastic holidays and generally enjoying themselves. I haven't. It started well with a committed and determined start to a 30 in 30, and at times there were glimpses of the good life, but it didn't last for long.
My boiler was fixed after 5 visits from the gas man and 6 weeks without hot water. My radiator is leaking.
I sorted out the insulation in the loft. The fuse blew on the lights downstairs. The hallway light blew on the upstairs ring main - either downstairs lights with no lights as I came in and out of the house, or upstairs lights and cooking by the light of the hob.
My week of convalescing in the Lake District was all very pleasant with a good mountain walk or two; in dreary weather. My only ride of the week resulted in the biggest crash I've had in many years. A big, hard, fast crash. Bruised and scraped from my right shoulder down to my right knee, including my ribs. A good chunk out of my right elbow and a lump the size of a tennis ball with a rainbow coloured bruise on my hip. I hit my head and cracked my helmet. Fortunately Hyacinth, my Maverick ML7 only suffered superficial damage to her handlebars and brakelevers and a slightly buckled rear wheel. Fortunately her fall onto the jagged rocks was broken by my stunned and helpless body. Lucky her. I gave the Grizedale Mountain Bike Challenge a miss the following day.
Traffic on the way home on Sunday night was dreadful so I got back in the early hours of the morning to cram in a few hours sleep before an early start to some long days at work. A heavy schedule over the next few days, coupled with a repairing body, the continuing course of antibiotics and the damp from sleeping in a tent all week gave me a wrotten cold. I still have a wrotten cold.
On the way home from work on Friday various pedestrians, cyclists and drivers seemed determined to kill themselves and/or me, by completely ignoring every single line of the Highway Code and their common sense. My journey time home was doubled by roadworks and heavy traffic on the M1.
Ah, my front door by midnight. But no hallway light. Time for a shower. The shower head flew off and hit me on the forehead. I sighed. A deep, shoulder-dropping sigh. I looked around for someone to give me a hug, one of those "don't worry, everything's going to be alright soon petal now dry your eyes and be a big brave girl" hugs. There was nobody there. I sighed and put my head under the pathetic dribble of warm water that was coming from the remnants of my shower head.
One more long day at work and then a day off. I think I'm just going to curl up on the sofa and try not to hurt myself, break anything or burn the house down.
Bring on October, please...
My boiler was fixed after 5 visits from the gas man and 6 weeks without hot water. My radiator is leaking.
I sorted out the insulation in the loft. The fuse blew on the lights downstairs. The hallway light blew on the upstairs ring main - either downstairs lights with no lights as I came in and out of the house, or upstairs lights and cooking by the light of the hob.
My week of convalescing in the Lake District was all very pleasant with a good mountain walk or two; in dreary weather. My only ride of the week resulted in the biggest crash I've had in many years. A big, hard, fast crash. Bruised and scraped from my right shoulder down to my right knee, including my ribs. A good chunk out of my right elbow and a lump the size of a tennis ball with a rainbow coloured bruise on my hip. I hit my head and cracked my helmet. Fortunately Hyacinth, my Maverick ML7 only suffered superficial damage to her handlebars and brakelevers and a slightly buckled rear wheel. Fortunately her fall onto the jagged rocks was broken by my stunned and helpless body. Lucky her. I gave the Grizedale Mountain Bike Challenge a miss the following day.
Traffic on the way home on Sunday night was dreadful so I got back in the early hours of the morning to cram in a few hours sleep before an early start to some long days at work. A heavy schedule over the next few days, coupled with a repairing body, the continuing course of antibiotics and the damp from sleeping in a tent all week gave me a wrotten cold. I still have a wrotten cold.
On the way home from work on Friday various pedestrians, cyclists and drivers seemed determined to kill themselves and/or me, by completely ignoring every single line of the Highway Code and their common sense. My journey time home was doubled by roadworks and heavy traffic on the M1.
Ah, my front door by midnight. But no hallway light. Time for a shower. The shower head flew off and hit me on the forehead. I sighed. A deep, shoulder-dropping sigh. I looked around for someone to give me a hug, one of those "don't worry, everything's going to be alright soon petal now dry your eyes and be a big brave girl" hugs. There was nobody there. I sighed and put my head under the pathetic dribble of warm water that was coming from the remnants of my shower head.
One more long day at work and then a day off. I think I'm just going to curl up on the sofa and try not to hurt myself, break anything or burn the house down.
Bring on October, please...
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Bad Timing
Well I finally have to report that I have been beaten by the 30 in 30 challenge. Again! I've been putting it off for a couple of days in the vain hope that I would be able to pick it up again without anyone really noticing, but it wasn't to be. I'd made such a good start, even riding in the rain, even enjoying riding in the rain! I'd been eating well and only drinking moderately and had an excellent set of rides lined up for the following week. 30 in 30 was going to be positively joyful.
On Saturday I was supposed to do a race over near Windsor, but as my alarm went off at 6am I could barely drag myself out of bed and I didn't surface until 1pm - I still managed to squeeze in a ride though. (Who'd have thought early Friday nights out on the orange juice could take it out of you so much?!) By Saturday evening I really wasn't feeling great.
Sunday came and went and I barely moved from the sofa. Fast forward to around 4pm today and I'm doubled over in pain in the front seat of my car, mouth watering, head resting on the steering wheel and unable to focus. I managed to stumble across the car park and into the GP's surgery. A confirmed infection, some painkillers and two weeks worth of antibiotics prescribed. Still too light-headed to drive I was given a cup of tea and some biscuits. Forty-five minutes later I'd finally gained enough strength to make the drive home, and spent the rest of the day on the sofa.
Hopefully I'll be well enough to ride next week, though my motivation to ride, in fact my motivation to do anything at the moment, has completely gone. I'm well and truly fed up.
On Saturday I was supposed to do a race over near Windsor, but as my alarm went off at 6am I could barely drag myself out of bed and I didn't surface until 1pm - I still managed to squeeze in a ride though. (Who'd have thought early Friday nights out on the orange juice could take it out of you so much?!) By Saturday evening I really wasn't feeling great.
Sunday came and went and I barely moved from the sofa. Fast forward to around 4pm today and I'm doubled over in pain in the front seat of my car, mouth watering, head resting on the steering wheel and unable to focus. I managed to stumble across the car park and into the GP's surgery. A confirmed infection, some painkillers and two weeks worth of antibiotics prescribed. Still too light-headed to drive I was given a cup of tea and some biscuits. Forty-five minutes later I'd finally gained enough strength to make the drive home, and spent the rest of the day on the sofa.
Hopefully I'll be well enough to ride next week, though my motivation to ride, in fact my motivation to do anything at the moment, has completely gone. I'm well and truly fed up.
Monday, 10 December 2007
And the Lord said:
"Let them ride bikes. For this time of year is a time of celebration and happiness." And so it was that on the 63rd day of my illness, I did rise from the sofa and did take out my trusty Surly steed to help banish the evil virus from my body. And low, though I did ride through the alley of the thorns, I feared no punctures. And I did ride over the hills, and across the downs and through the fruitful forest. And when I had travelled many lonely miles and my spirit hath lifted and mine iPod run out; I turned homeward. And the sun set on a beautiful day and the world was good.
And whence I returned from my pilgrimage I did drink tea and eat cake - for every Englishman knows in his heart that these are truly the body and the blood of Christ - and the world was good.
And so, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step (despite aching legs), with the feeling of the wind blowing through my helmet so real I could almost be out there still, I can finally write about riding my bike again: a ride I will never forget. The bright orange sunset flickering through the trees as I approached Ivinghoe Beacon, (must remember camera) then as the terrain changed slightly I lost site of it, the flat Buckinghamshire countryside stretched out beyond the horizon shrouded under it's dusky orange veil, until I turned west directly into the sun down to Ivinghoe and it was so bright and low I could hardly see the road in front of me! This is why I ride bikes.
And life IS good!
And whence I returned from my pilgrimage I did drink tea and eat cake - for every Englishman knows in his heart that these are truly the body and the blood of Christ - and the world was good.
And so, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step (despite aching legs), with the feeling of the wind blowing through my helmet so real I could almost be out there still, I can finally write about riding my bike again: a ride I will never forget. The bright orange sunset flickering through the trees as I approached Ivinghoe Beacon, (must remember camera) then as the terrain changed slightly I lost site of it, the flat Buckinghamshire countryside stretched out beyond the horizon shrouded under it's dusky orange veil, until I turned west directly into the sun down to Ivinghoe and it was so bright and low I could hardly see the road in front of me! This is why I ride bikes.
And life IS good!
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Been a while...
So it was brought to my attention today (thanks Simon), that I've really not been posting too much. Three weeks since the last one to be precise. The sad thing is, it's not because I've been busy or doing anything exciting - in fact, the exact opposite. Which is why I haven't been posting, because I haven't done anything interesting.
Truth of the matter is, I've been ill for a full six weeks now and to be honest, I'm getting really, really fed up with it. It started with a chest infection from Dusk til Dawn, evolved into flu, which then morphed into bronchitis. I've now cracked a rib, from coughing of all things! And it feels like I've got another cold coming on (though apparently bronchitis + cold symptoms = pneumonia in some cases. Gulp! I'm sure it's not though... just cos it's not... gulp!)
Yes, I could have ridden if I wanted to, but seeing as I practically cough up a lung every time I ride up the little hill from the train station, I thought it best not to. I'm pretty sure that's what caused the cracked rib as well. And passers by look at me as if I've got the plague because I'm coughing so hard and so long. It's not pretty I can tell you.
So that's it. That's what I've been doing all this time. Nothing. Nothing at all. How boring is that. I am getting grouchier though because I'm not riding my bike, so my rants are getting more colourful and my temper is getting shorter. So if this riding drought continues, I may have to post more ranting...
Public transport, don't get me started!!
Truth of the matter is, I've been ill for a full six weeks now and to be honest, I'm getting really, really fed up with it. It started with a chest infection from Dusk til Dawn, evolved into flu, which then morphed into bronchitis. I've now cracked a rib, from coughing of all things! And it feels like I've got another cold coming on (though apparently bronchitis + cold symptoms = pneumonia in some cases. Gulp! I'm sure it's not though... just cos it's not... gulp!)
Yes, I could have ridden if I wanted to, but seeing as I practically cough up a lung every time I ride up the little hill from the train station, I thought it best not to. I'm pretty sure that's what caused the cracked rib as well. And passers by look at me as if I've got the plague because I'm coughing so hard and so long. It's not pretty I can tell you.
So that's it. That's what I've been doing all this time. Nothing. Nothing at all. How boring is that. I am getting grouchier though because I'm not riding my bike, so my rants are getting more colourful and my temper is getting shorter. So if this riding drought continues, I may have to post more ranting...
Public transport, don't get me started!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)