I suppose it's only fair to assume that something close to a 4,000km ride on a new bike powered by a 56 year old body is asking for trouble and the trouble is that I tend to think that my body is as fit and strong as it was aged 26 and I probably had this assumption in mind when planning the whole venture...
I started out with a gammy right ankle - a legacy of school days and too much lacrosse on freezing cold Saturday mornings. It's a brutal game, played by posh girls who, underneath their plummy accents, are infinitely more brutal than the Native American Indians who invented the game. In addition to that I have a dodgy left knee which is a left over from my running days and these also triggered problems in my right hip - I swear running should come with a health warning, a bit like packets of cigarettes. Anyway, it was these three ailments that pushed me back into cycling a couple of years ago. I'd always loved cycling, ever since I fell off my bike as a child and broke my arm - but that's another story. So, I was doing really well with my training last year until I slipped on the ice in Reykjavik last December and managed to break my shoulder. That kept me off my bike for a good 3 months, although I did make it to some spin classes after a month trying to keep up with the other sweaties, my left arm dangling limply by my side...
Well, the old joints seemed to be bearing up tolerably well for the first few days until the left knee started to play up a bit. I think I must have mentioned this somewhere along the way and whoever has been offering prayers for my left knee, thank you very much. You'll be pleased to know that it has been absolutely fine since and in fact the right ankle, left knee, right hip and left shoulder have all been behaving themselves perfectly - don't you just love the symmetry of my ailments? Now, I think I may have mentioned the effects on the hands of leaning too long on the handlebars. Well, I can only assume that although I must lean very heavily on them and have probably compressed the nerves as flat as pancakes by now, someone out there has been praying for that too because my hands have not got nearly as bad as I would have expected. Yes, my fingers still feel like 8 fat chipolatas and 2 fat cocktail sausages but I still have some use of them: doing up buttons and zips is difficult, I can hold a knife and fork in a reasonably civilised fashion but cutting up food is tricky, I can brush my hair but putting on eyeliner becomes a dangerous sport... and so the list goes on. In fact, most of the things I struggle with are ADLs - actions of daily living - maybe I should apply for benefits!!
Now to this list of woes I really should add my wonky eyes: chronically short-sighted at the best of times I now have the added feature of double vision. Not such a bad thing when watching a George Clooney film but less appealing when the oncoming juggernaut ominously splits into one and a half and then sometimes two, half of which appears to be heading straight for you and you're not quite sure where on the road it is in reality until it's passed you. At which point, you heave a deep sigh of relief. Now, wonky though it is, I treasure my vision because it's the only vision I've got even though prescription glasses can't make it 20/20. So when I'm pedalling along minding my own business and suddenly notice a small dark splodge distorting my vision, I can't help but panic just a teeny bit. Is my retina getting detached? Am I about to go blind?? I shake my head in the hopes that dark splodge will disappear (probably the worst thing to do if it is the retina) but no, it's still there, just off the centre of my line of vision. Then another one appears and I start to get seriously worried and begin to sympathise with Saul on the Damascus Road - poor bloke, but at least he was only blind for 3 days and had an amazing career after that. But I digress. I'm now cycling along like Cyclops and wondering what I should do. I force myself to squint and focus on one of the dark splodges and then it dawns on me... I stop, take off my glasses, flick off two tiny insects and carry on. Phew, wonky sight restored!
I could tell you about the pain in one of my right ribs ever since I slipped in the bath in Harwich, I was convinced it was broken and about to pierce my lung and I'd die from lack of breath, but I'm still here, still cycling, so I guess I just have to live with being an incorrigible hypochondriac until the day I die - and moan: I told you I was feeling ill.
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