This Is Ladies Night

Have you ever been stuck in doors, alone, with the same 4 walls, and the inability to move without pain?

My drama skills are on the up rise in case you haven’t noticed. I’m thinking of yet another career change.  The stage is clearly calling.

Friday was spent barely moving from the couch which obviously resulted in a solid full stone gain in weight (the only food I could stumble my to the kitchen to find was of no nutritional value and the pain in my back was making me feel nauseous). However the rest did work and my back eased up enough for me tackle the stairs and begin to peel the tin man costume off my body.

Saturday morning and despite a night of constant up and down with the dogs and the impossible act of getting comfy I was better than the Friday. The other half had left for a boys weekend Friday afternoon so my mum and dad came round to take the eldest to the airport for his holiday. I decided I was going to try and make my cocktail night because 1. It would cheer me up and 2. If I’m honest, walking round bars would be a lot easier than running after dogs and dealing with the constant cries of ‘mum I’m hungry’ from the youngest.

I almost changed my mind in the taxi on the way down, nearly asking him to turn round and take me back home. But I didn’t. I sucked it up.

There were 8 of us from the tri club, most of whom I have been doing quite a bit of training with.  Although not this kind of training ha ha.  Let me tell you though.  The organisational skills of these women – good lord! If ever I enter an event that requires a crew then these people are my team! Everything was arranged.  I only had to worry about getting dressed (admittedly a task in itself when I couldn’t lift my left leg) and hobble between bars.  But it seemed that even the distance between bars had been thought out as it always felt enough to get me moving but not too far it was over doing it.

However.  The comments on taking a trolley or a stretcher for me definitely warrant some questions on our friendship.  And an Asda trolley? At least make it a Marks and Spencer’s one ladies!

At the first stop we had, in true ladies style, the Pornstar Margarita.  A sugared glass with tequila and lime and I think a shot of Prosecco.  I’m unsure as the woman at the table next to us took one look at me and proceeded to divulge, in great detail, how she had had a bad back and ended up getting her spine shaved.  Thanks for that love.

The sugared glass became quite entertaining though.  You start by discreetly trying to lick tiny bits off then someone catches your eye and you watch them full on lick clean their glass ALL the way round the rim to the extent you’re now worried they may start to attack the windows!

Amazing what a drop of alcohol can do.

We head to the next one on the list but find it doesn’t open until 5pm so go next door.  I see some of the same women from the last place but thankfully not the nip and tuck women.  Naturally it’s selfie time and I make my first mistake of the night when I try to bend down to get in the picture and have to be helped back up by Shona.  This is one drink down ladies and gentleman.  One drink.

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It’s getting busier now and it’s not so easy to find a seat in the next bar but standing and discreetly stretching my back is fine with me.  At least I think it’s discreetly.  I’ve now had more alcohol in the last couple of hours than I’ve had in the last couple of years so for all I know I’m doing full on acrobatic yoga moves on the bar and not just slightly tilting my pelvis every now and then.  No one says anything though so I’m either getting away with it or they are just as drunk.

We head to the next one and it’s downstairs.  This is not good for me.  This is when I begin to wonder how far the train station is as it might be time to make an exit.  We haven’t even entered the place when a group comes out and tells us the bar is disgusting.  ‘Worst one yet’ they say.  So it’s back up the stairs.

In to Tigerlily and we sit outside after an array of photos at their flower wall.  I’ve just sat down when the rain starts but you’re buggered if you think I’m moving! I’m happy to have Monica Geller frizzy hair if it means I can have a seat for a minute to ease off my back.  The cocktail helps too ha ha.

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Stomachs are grumbling by this point so it’s a food stop.  Now, I know nothing about food.  It’s not a subject I find interesting.  I’m genuinely astonished by how some people can rattle off descriptions of a meal laden with ‘dripping in’ this and ‘coated in’ that.  THATS DISGUSTING.  The mere thought of anything I’m going to eat being ‘dripped’ in something is pure and simple gross! If it drips, I’m not eating it! This obviously leaves me with a problem when we go to the Tapas bar.  Joe and I don’t eat out that often.  Sure we take the kids out for breakfast at the weekends but we stick to what they like and know.  (And usually if it’s breakfast, I can get beans on toast, job done).  I don’t know what tapas is.  When someone says you have 2 maybe 3 portions I’m thinking ‘I’m not a fatty love, I’m just hungry’.

I play it safe and order the peppers, olives and a potato thing I’m sharing with Carol.

Out comes the food.  It’s just peppers.  As in, just peppers.  I was expecting something to put the peppers in.  Like a tortilla wrap or something.  Nope.  Just peppers.  Ok, olives then.  They look whole.  As in solid.  As in not deseeded or pipped or what ever it’s bloody called – hollowed out! I can’t eat them.

I order some fries.

I know Joe doesn’t read what I write so I’m pretty safe putting this here but it’s quite clear when it comes to food I’m pretty stuck without him.  He usually orders for me.  But I was kind of grumpy with him as he’s not the most sympathetic over my back pain (called it inconvenient!) so I didn’t do what I usually do and text him asking him what I should order.

Kind of shot myself in the foot over that one.

On to the next bar!

The man bar that stinks of, well, men, actually gets my vote for best cocktail.  It may have been the lack of food affecting my taste buds but I liked it.

By this time my back is most definitely giving up.  I’m actually impressed with how long I’ve lasted given I was going to get the taxi to take me straight back home.

We end the night in Harvey Nichols with tattoos that just won’t go on.  Jo had provided bus snacks in the form of old school candy sticks that came with super hero tattoos.  I begged for the Wonder Woman one.

It was a great night and I’m glad I went.  I can’t do this whole ‘sit and do nothing’ even though I know I need to.  I’ve still got to keep my sanity.  And whilst the ladies from tri club may not be completely sane, they are a good laugh.

The night out did leave me with one huge problem though.  Removing skinny jeans when you can’t lift your leg or bend forwards has by far been my biggest challenge yet!

Backing It Up

Well life’s just sat up and given me a big old slap in the face with a soggy fish taken straight from the murky under grounds of death lake.

I’ve hurt my back.

Correction. A plastic mannequin filled with water has completely totalled my back and put me out of action for god only knows how long.

So what happened? Last night during one of my classes a young lad was doing amazing. He was swimming absolutely beautifully and nailed both his breast stroke and back crawl. As a reward we put the mannequin in as he just loves to dive down for it. All I did was pull it out the water on to the side. As I lifted it up I felt this explosion in my back and intense pain. I lent against the diving boards and found I was struggling to move. Luckily I had our modern apprentice with me and she went to get another teacher so I could try and sneak out the back door and on to the power plates in hope of releasing my back straight away.

This didn’t work so I limped my way to the chiropractor a mere 2 hours after it happened to be told I had rotated L3 L4 had an acute tear and a golf ball sized lump in my QL.

In English I had f@cked my back.

An absolute HUGE thank you to Duigan Chiropractors and their massage therapist Amanda for seeing me so quickly!!

Where does this leave me? Well this morning it left me stuck on the bed for 5 minutes because I had one leg in my trousers but couldn’t lift the other up to put that one in. I also couldn’t roll to the side enough to move so there I was balanced half off the bed in a contorted position with a pair of trousers dangling off my right foot. Yup, I certainly know how to spice things up in the bedroom!

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Basically, after a mere 3 days of following a training plan, I’m on rest. I can’t bend side to side, I can’t bend forward – the bathrooms a freaking fun place to visit right now – and I can’t sit in one position for more than a couple of minutes with out a shooting pain going down my leg.

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BUT. Tomorrow is another day. Let’s see if it releases any today. I am religiously icing it and rolling on that spiky ball. I am regularly getting up and moving but no, not going for a run. Once it registered last night that I will not be doing my turbo session, run or be fit for work today I had no choice but to think about how I can make it better, fast.

I’m not in the whole ‘woe is me’ place. I’m just frustrated because I was really excited about starting something new.

I’m meant to be at a cocktail night tomorrow. And I’m not ruling it out yet!! I rarely go out and have been looking forward to this one. I’m thinking the alcohol will numb the pain – isn’t that the saying? Ha ha. It’s not over till the fat lady sings and this fat lady can’t sing so it will never be over! Ha ha. If – and it’s a big if – I make it, there won’t be any dancing, but I’m sure the rest of the ladies will make up for that.

Right. Time to get another ice pack. I will go to the (cocktail) ball tomorrow!

My Half Ironman Training 

‘May the odds be ever in your favour’


Well that’s not really happening right now is it!

After Fridays fall then Sundays ‘defiant’ half marathon (yes I can do this, I’m fine, the distance isn’t an issue, oh no wait, the pain!) I’ve had a rather quiet week so far.

Running is very difficult as the movement hurts my cheek a bit too much.  At most I’ve done the odd mile on the treadmill to keep me from going insane but I’ve spent the entire time gurning like your grandfather and checking every two seconds it’s not started bleeding again.  Good form it is not my friend.

I managed a session in the pool – which was one of those where I had to guilt myself in to going – and did an ok 2000m.  My swim buddy bailed on me because of the rain and a heavy weekend but I had a set written on my hand – and I made him feel suitably bad the next day. 

I also managed an open water session at Loch Ore again.  However this time the wind was against me and it was incredibly choppy.  At one point I was at the second buoy and every time I looked up – oh yes, my face was actually in the water! – I was getting further and further back from it.  I persevered though but again the third lap was very much a ‘force yourself’ lap.  Had Joe been finished his run I would have quit at 2 laps.  It did make me feel better to hear the stronger swimmers complaining of how hard it was though.  


Any form of weights, pull ups, push ups or even some yoga has been completely off the cards this week so far.  My hand has turned a lovely shade of black and blue (which I’m taking to mean it’s getting better) and reminds me quite often it’s still not quite right.  So it’s been impossible to apply any pressure on it what so ever.

So that leaves me with only one thing I can comfortably do – and it’s the one thing that landed me in this broken bodied state in the first place – cycling. 

I’ve stuck to the spin bike as we appear to be in monsoon season right now, not keen to have another crash I thought it the sensible option.  I’ve tried following it up with a run but as I said it’s still too painful on the cheek so thats been limited to a mile.    I’m dealing with it all not too bad though to be fair.  I mean, I haven’t hurt anyone (yet, however there have been a few moments that have involved clenched fists).  There have been moments I’ve gazed longingly out the window desperate to go for a proper run, U2’s With or Without You playing over and over in my head…..

But I’m ok.  I’m dealing with it.

I may have had to look the other way when I’ve driven past someone running down the street, getting their fix, wondering when I’m going to get mine, cautiously trying not to swerve in to them out of jealousy…..

Honestly, I’m fine.

In all seriousness I should be back to running properly again by Saturday.  And even though I’m working I can still get out for my 5 miles at lunch time – regardless of wind or rain I’m running!

Then it will only be 3 weeks until event day.   3 weeks to get that last long ride in.  That last open water swim.   That last long (ish) run.  

Plenty time to change the nappy as I will be well and truly ‘filling ma breeks’ by then! 

Is it Saturday yet?

Hips don’t lie

Never a truer word spoken (or song sung ha ha).  I’ve had an ache in my hip since the Tay Ten.  It went away for a short period but it came back just before the marathon.  I was running ok and my last long run was fine.  At running club the Thursday before Edinburgh though it was niggling too much and I found myself skipping some of the drills.  It felt like I was almost dragging my left side.  

So after Edinburgh I knew I had to get it seen to.  I made an appointment at the physio and headed down, not really knowing what to expect.

Some typical questions ‘what exercise do you do’ , ‘what’s your occupation’ , past medical history etc etc.  I explained the ache and how long it had been there.  She explained that’s not my hip it’s my back (easy mistake if you ask me).  She asked what I was hoping she would be able to do.  I explained I didn’t really know what a physio does I had just been told I need to see one.  As you can tell, things were going well. 

I stood up and she looked at my hips and back and very quickly discovered I had a rotated pelvis.  ‘Oh I think I knew that, I had it when I was pregnant – could barely walk.  I presumed it had just gone though’.  She found this fascinating.  Unrelated to the problem but interesting to her.  She tells me I have one leg longer then the other.  Again I think I’ve been told this before but I had also thought pretty much everyone had this.  Turns out not to this extent.

On to the table and she gently pokes at my back.

I practically jump off the table.

This happened when I was pregnant.  I could have killed the physio then.  Had I not been too fat to move.

It turns out to be my Quadratus Lumborum muscle which is severely tight.  The next 10 mins are filled with my tears and screams as she tortures me claiming she’s relaxing this Harry Potter character in my body.  

She doesn’t by the way.  I walk out in severely more pain.

I’m told heat will help ease it and I’m met with amusement when I explain I have been using ice. ‘It’s not inflammatory’.  I don’t have the heart to tell her that – again – I don’t know what she means. 

A quick Google search when I get home and I educate myself on what’s wrong. It amazes me how it explains exactly how I had been feeling.  

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Amazing

It’s going to be a full week of lots of stretches so when I go back next week it’s not so painful! Hips don’t lie.  Not when it’s actually you’re back that hurts ha ha.