That Loose Screw

More and more frequently people who I do not think of as being included in my inner circle, tell me to my face that I am mad. It is pointless to argue I feel, since they have, in my opinion not a clue what they are talking about. The reason they think I am mad is quite often because I carry on doing as much sport as I can, and that is actually a lot less than I used to do. For all of us life has its ups and downs and health wise these days there are more downs than there used to be its true.

There is something in what they say, but it is not ‘Mad’. At least it is not barking-at- the-moon-absolutely-stark- raving mad. Still, even I sometimes think that it might be more on the level of a slightly loose screw. Meaning not anything that hurts anybody else to any great extent, but there have been moments when I have questioned my own reasoning. Early yesterday morning things happened that did remind me of one area in my thought processes that is questionable.

Not that I would want to put myself on a level with this great man, but it reminds of  reading about the travels of Captain James Cook (I always loved stories of travel and exploration) when it was noted that sailing close to the shore of the east coast of Australia, that some of the aborigine people that they saw on the shore took no notice at all as his ship sailed past them and it was later concluded that they had the attitude of ‘Take no notice and it will go away’, with creatures and things that they had never seen before.

 

There is something along those lines that sometimes goes on in my own head. What happened at about 5.45am Sunday as we rushed around to get off to drive to Woking to support a friend in her first event. Steve did what he always does when we have to get away a bit sharpish, which was to give me a count down to departure. This is quite simple. The first thing will be the warning, “Fifteen minute to departure”. I don’t find this annoying at all, in fact I can work with this method. Then, “Ten minutes to departure” and so on. Always the full sentence, not just 15… 10… 5. I had put some things out the night before in readiness for the rush, and did quite well until I checked and did not have my camera.

There was a speed of light rush around to my desk, then to the place on the side where it is most often and a mad rush to the office upstairs. All were fruitless and now I was holding up departure, so I gave up my search and rushed out through the garage and into the parking area at the back where Steve was sitting in the car waiting. In my haste I tore around in the dark to the passenger side of the car, opened the door with a jerk and hit my shin hard with the nasty point of the car door.

Here is the nutty bit. At times like that I do not scream “Ooch, ouch” and swear a bit. I held the shin for a few seconds and then got into the car. I did not make any attempt to see what the damage I had done was, although I knew full well that I had hurt myself. I did not look at it once dawn broke, nor when we arrived in Woking. There was not even a peep when I visited the toilet before checking on our athlete’s progress. Not at any time during the morning before, during or after the triathlon and not when we drove to Costco at Sunbury to do a usual shop there. On the way home we visited our dear friends Andrew and Sharon Shaw, to see how the work on their fabulous house was coming along. We got home at about 4.30pm in the afternoon and then I took a look at the gash in my shin and by that time it looked a lot worse than it actually is because it has bled into my jeans a bit. 

 

Another example of this strange affliction was years ago when I had traveled to Perth Australia on my own to compete in the World Triathlon Championships in November 1997. I stayed for about ten days in the home of a client/friend of ours who offered their home to me since they were away in the UK. Then I stayed with other even older friends the rest of the time that included the race period. My friend took me to the race venue very early in the morning in the dark and made sure that I was with my crowd before he left me there. I had traveled lightly because there was a limit and I had a bike and all my sports kit already. I had not packed a pair of old shoes to walk to the swim start.

There was a mile walk, in the dark along the road but with hundreds of other athletes. In the darkness I tripped up a curb and a sickly shudder passed through my body with the pain but I did not look to see what I had done. I had my wet suit on and was holding my hat and goggles. The toes on my right foot were agony. I did not look until the race had finished some hours later. There were a set of swollen black and purple jelly babies attached to my foot where once were darling little pink toes.  

When my friend David picked me up later he was horrified. A few days later I flew to San Diego to meet Steve. The next week we were entered for Ironman California, Camp Pendleton. Steve had not wanted me to even start that race but gave in after telling me that I could do the swim, and the bike and then stop and not finish. I didn’t do that but at the first aid station I came to on the run, I asked if there was a medic anywhere who could strap my toes together for me because they hurt. Amazingly there was somebody and so I took my shoe off and displayed the offending foot. “Whoa” he said. “Those toes are broken” and asked if I was sure that I wanted to carry on. Anyway he did tape the toes together and I did manage to get to the finish line and was very happy to get a Hawaii Ironman slot too.

  

I’m thinking that I am going to try to be more careful and more sensible in future.

I am not twenty one anymore after all.