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Alastair is a prolific tweeter via @allymonc and runs his own football fiction website. He’s very kindly agreed to share his story with RunningPhysio;
I suppose I should start my tale of injury-related woe with a smattering of background information. Whilst I had never been slim as such, I was up until the age of 16 a relatively active sportsman, unfortunately (like many my age) the world of drink and (relative) debauchery tempted me in. Weekend mornings that may have previously been spent on the rugby pitch now involved the couch, a hangover and the obligatory fry-up. You know how this story ends, my weight ballooned (just under 18st at my heaviest).
Like all overweight people there came a point where I resolved to do something about my ever-increasing waistline, luckily for me I am a resilient so and so, out went the pints of lager and the late-night takeaways and down came my weight.
A strict diet however can only take you so far, it was time to burn some serious calories. I had no history as a runner, all my previous exercise had been focused on team sports such as football and rugby. So whilst I could run, I was not a ‘runner’. I decided that was going to change, I was a new man, a man who ran.
It will come as no surprise to those of you reading this that very soon I was hooked. I was running at least 3 times a week, not even the most hostile weather the East coast of Scotland could muster put me off, in fact, I took a perverse pleasure in pulling on my trainers and hitting the road in conditions that would have most people hitting the snooze button and going back to sleep.
I ran when I was in a good mood and I ran when things were getting me down. I was running further and I was running faster, before long my thoughts turned to half marathons, full marathons, maybe even triathlons. And then it all went wrong.
I was on one of my regular routes, a scenic run along the old railway line that hugs the ragged Fife coast, as I approached the point that denoted 3 miles from my front door, and the point at which I intended to turn for home, I checked my time, it was good, my next step, however, was not. As I placed my left foot down it rolled on a loose stone, I felt like someone had shot me with a BB gun (in fact in a moment of desperation I looked around for the perpetrator). I was on the ground and knew something was wrong.
The route I was on that day is a runners dream, however, it is totally inaccessible to vehicles, with no chance of assistance I hobbled, crawled and limped my way home. When I eventually made it back I applied the principles of Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. And prayed for the morning to bring good news. A restless, sleepless night told me the chances of that were slim.
My job as an electrician became an impossibility and everyday tasks became great challenges (if you want to get some ‘funny’ looks try going downstairs backwards!). A combination of GP and physiotherapists signed me off work and set out a programme of exercises for me to follow.
Anyone who has had non-emergency treatment on the NHS will know it can be a long process that can run past weeks and months and into years (this is absolutely not a dig at the NHS in any way, I wholly appreciate they have priorities and my running is quite rightly not one of them). Eventually, with a combination of time and strict adherence to my rehabilitative exercises, my knee felt like it was returning to normal. I eventually got the green light to pull my trainers on again.
As I stood at my front door I was excited and a little nervous, with my knee heavily strapped I set off for my first run in many months. I tried to tell myself it was okay, that I was just out of practice and a few aches and pains were perfectly normal. I wasn’t okay, the pain whilst not as sharp was still there, just below the kneecap, same place as before. This was not good. Every so often I tried again, and every time the same result, the same pain.
That was a few years ago, so what of me now? Well I can work, I can play golf and I can do some resistance training (albeit with a degree of discomfort) but I cannot run. The impact of trainer on tarmac (or even grass) is too much for my knee to bear, any attempt to run leaves me in pain and unable to go about my everyday life. The NHS can do no more for me, surgery is not an option and I cannot afford regular physiotherapy.
So it seems that my time as a runner is over, the knowledge that I’ll never run a marathon or compete in a triathlon is a sobering one. Apart from my knee I’m in good shape, I can still cycle, I can still row and I can still lift weights, but nothing compares to pulling on your trainers and heading out into the great outdoors on a Sunday morning, whilst the rest of the nation sleeps off its hangover.
RunningPhysio has been chatting to Ally about his knee and is going to see what we might be able to achieve with some more rehab….watch this space….
