The drugs don't work 13th febbraio 2012

The drugs don't work 13th febbraio 2012

My shoulder hurts. It really hurts, and it's the fault of an Italian.
Many years ago, I think in the summer of 2003 I was living in London, Acton to be precise and commuting to work in the London Hospital in Whitechapel - a cheeky little 10 mile door to door commute by bike. In the summer I used to ride 3 or 4 days a week, and it was fantastic to improve my fitness for rowing, reduce my travelling expenses when I was paid sod all, and to get a feel for the completeness  and completemess of London, which you can lose when you pop down into a tube in one locale and pop up in another.
The bike was great, my sister's partner had taken part, or indeed, not taken part, in a cycle ride from Brighton to Paris and received a Trek A-1000 for the pleasure - on loan of course. This was a follow on from taking part in the first "Survivor" program. Of course, the bike never made it back to the shop that it was kindly lent from, in fact, if my memory serves me correctly it was actually from a triathlon store - trithebikestore - a quick google has revealed it as tri the bike shop in Kent. It was great and it ended up in my possession. Actually, two of them ended up in my possession long term, but that's another story. I had this Trek, it was a sweet ride, nothing better than riding a brnad new bike on flat pavements, I remember the smoothness of those first few pedal revolutions was absolutely orgamismic - hmm, maybe I should get another Trek? But that really is a different story! Anyway, I rode across the beast that was London, right from the far west to the horrid east pretty often. It conicncided with the introduction of the congestion charge, so thankfully that year the roads were pretty quiet. Going in I rode up Oxford Street, after going through Holland Park, and coming back I would go through Bank, past the Houses of Parliament, Buck House, Marble Arch, Kensington High Street and back - great riding. I felt confident and really sweet on that bike. Of course, I was fit, rowing a lot at that time.
Anyway, one day, it was late in the year, maybe early October after a hot ssummer and I was riding home, except this time it was a little different. There had been a drinks reception for something in the hospital and I had had a fair few glasses of wine, of course, I was English, poor and there was free wine offered so I had to take it. Coming up the Mall I made a late lane change and was hit by a big scooter, maybe one of the 250cc jobbies. It turned out to be ridden by a freaking Italian who seemd to blame me. His bike was a mess and he was a bit beaten up but I was fine. My bike however had taken a bit hit, I think that since it had been hot and there was the first bit of rain for a month or so, that the roads were greasy. He dabbed the brakes and went over, and hit me whilst he was on his side. The collision dented in my back wheel and I took flight - I think that I landed on top of him and sprang pretty much to my feet. My bikle all over - one of trainers half way down the road (I had yet to discover the world of cleats) and his bike in ruins. The police arrived quickly and I downed a lot of chewing gum to check there was no wine on my breath. There were several interviews with police and they seemed to be impressed that I was a doctor and he was some scummy johnny foreigner Italian, but I think they twigged that I was a little pssed. I rang Scott and Vicky who kindly came and picked my pieces off the road and I skedaddled out of there. I thought that I had had no injury, until a month or two later when my shoulder started hurting a lot. The Police eventually sent me a letter saying that the incident had been resolved and that they wer taking it no further. I really have no idea what they had done to reach this conclusion - frick all in my mind, I would not have allowed this to happen now, it certainly wiped my bike out, wiped me out, and of course, since I was not driving at the time I had no insurance too. If that had happened at this age I would've been in trouble - and the Italian doubly so!

And it was a lot, it was ok, I should've taken physio but of course I had no money at that time and did not do so. Then about a year later I played a game for a 3rds rugby team in Norwich. I went into the first tackle of some big centre too high and he just burst straight through me and I felt my left arm rip - my arm was numb for the rest of the game, but of course like a fool I played on. After the game, maybe a day later I ended up in A&E pronto soccorso being able to move my arm or my shoulder in one particular direction. The doctor laughed me out of there, but it turned out, in my opinion that I had ripped my rotator cuff. There was a time when it got bad, and I started to overdose on ibuprofen, just before Geoff's wedding where I was best man, and I started to get a horrible rash due to the amount of pral and topical ibuprofen I was taking. They gave me a cortisone shot into the sholder joint which worked a treat.

Anyway, fast forward 8 years and here I am with real pain. The swimming for the Ironman has really upset my shoulder - I hope it is the breast stroke, I am experimenting with cutting out the breast stroke and hope that this will work. I have some USA Naproxen NSAIDs in front of me which I am nailing plus some topical ibuprofen and hope that will see it off. This could hamper my progress.

So, where am I? 8 years and no progress? I think that is a fair comment.

It gets worse - it is still FREAKIN cold here. This morning it was minus 10 C whilst I was doing my 70 minute run and my hair froze. Last week it was minus 11.5 C and my beard froze plus some of it snapped off, so it's not that bad, but it still is super cold. At least, I think my hair froze. This freakin job is turning me super grey, so it could just be my hair going grey, but I thought it was my hair freezing. At work I am turning away from my usual smart shirt and trousers to wearing a white t-shirt under my shirt and a jumper on top, but I cannot seem to get my jumpers to wash correctly. They come out super clean but super small. In fact, they have all shrunk and I am left with crop tops like Bill and Teds fabulous journey! Made the cold soon vanish so that I do not commit any more fashion faux pas's as I am most certainly not buying any more jumpers!

Arrivederci!