Physical interaction

Back in the saddle again.  This would infer I’m back in the old saddle again. I’m not, I have a new one which has already clocked up 50 miles use.  It’s an odd thing a new saddle. My first impression was on my bum.  Well, it was a crikey this is proper hard, but the first 30 minutes came and went and I forgot I was on a new saddle at all, which is clearly a good thing.

I got out on the bike twice over the bank holiday weekend. I threw the physio’s words of caution to the wind, well, in a measured and calculated fashion anyway.  I have an awareness of the injury, what exacerbates it, how far I can go just before I feel it twinge.  Twinging, I have been told, is not good for a knee cartilage damage complaint but anything else goes.

Physios must have an interesting job, aside from hearing tales of utter stupidity and hilarity, and aside from coming up with imaginative forms of rehab to cope with multiple issues all at once.  There’s a whole branch of psychology to it too.  I come from a world where pretty much everyone I know is the kind of person who will try to do too much rather than the kind of person who won’t do the exercises.  Both kinds of people will inevitably lie about what they have and haven’t done.  So the physio has to figure out which kind of person you are and set limits or put in place higher challenges. Nobody, clearly, will do what they are advised to the letter. Well, caveat, nobody I know.  The physio here has to deal with some fairly big extremes.  People who believe if they are a short time off the bike they will lose strength, condition and talent of multiple years.  It takes a lot of clear information and exact details to deliver understanding and reassurance that talent will not simply disappear.  There’s also the peculiar return to the bike after illness or injury where the first couple of rides have your heart sink if all you do is ride, because you believe with an absolute certainty that you are miles behind where you were. Apparently scientific measurement will demonstrate that here is where feel is not to be trusted.  Hard facts and figures will demonstrate usually relatively little loss, sometimes a steady state because by the time you return to the pedals you may well be, for once in your life, well and truly rested.

Sunday I went up to Baslow Edge to join up with and watch some of my friends climbing there.  My remit was to bring cake and camera, and I think I fulfilled both satisfactorily, even managing two different kinds of cake.  The physio’s twenty minutes twice a day on the flat, preferably traffic free was on my mind, and I did plan a circular relatively gradient free route on a relatively well surfaced bridleway.  That was the plan.  Reality saw me scrambling over big rocks at the foot of the climbs, sometimes carrying the bike, sometimes leaving it casually hidden under very large rocks.  Reality saw me abandon bridleway for footpath, lovely rugged bumpy single track footpath at the top of a cliff.  The descent back to the van also made me aware that the journey from the van to the edge was probably uphill. So much for flat and even then.  It was a lovely day, and I returned home with just enough flapjack left ...

Monday I thought perhaps I had better do as I was told, and I set off down the canal towpath from Eccles to Manchester.  My aim was to hit the Sale / Chorlton Water Park and amble around there, stopping for cake. I’d even packed a bike lock for this occasion.  I was indeed ready.  But having got to Sale and not being entirely ready for cake, what was to stop me getting on the Trans Pennine Way and striking out towards Lymm.  30 miles later I completed the circular journey and due to a splendidly early spring morning start was back in time for lunch.  When, I wonder, did rehab become a 30 mile mountain bike ride?

Today I’m back commuting on the bike.  As yet, I’m not feeling ready for the road bike. It’s not because I fell off it particularly, it’s more about some apprehension over the twisting motion for the clip in pedals.  I’m not ready.  Today I rejoiced in the headwind as I did the final minor climb up to work.  It’s good to be on the bike.  It’s good to be alive.