I hurt both knees.
No surprise there, you might say, considering the maniac things you did in the course of your life, and that’s perfectly true. I have no right whatever to any working joint.
I broke my wrist. I broke my elbow. I broke my ankle. I fractured my skull. I fused two vertebrae in a fall from a window while acting the maggot.
In truth, I have no business being here, and yet, here I am.
The knee-injuries were a little more prosaic than the stories behind the severe skeletal damage I mentioned just there, though I do promise in the end to tell you what caused all those destructions.
The knee-injuries were caused by silliness. My right knee is in shit because I was foolish enough to do lots of road running without bothering to prepare for it and because I spent years playing squash, five or six days a week, pounding away at the joints. My left knee is currently in shit because I tripped over something on the bedroom floor and slammed it hard against the ground, as one does. Idiot.
The physio is a patient, non-judgemental lad. He doesn’t care how I did the damage. He just wants to fix it, and so he spends a full hour poking away at my leg muscles.
Jaysus, that right leg is very bad.
Yeah. Jaysus, you must have that problem a long time.
Fuck, I thought so. The muscle is fucked.
You’ve been putting the weight on the other leg.
Maybe I have.
Until you fucked up the other leg?
Yeah. We’ll have to work on this.
And so it comes to pass that my ever-patient physio advises me to stretch the muscles by pulling my foot up behind my back and holding the pose for 15 seconds, just like the Olympic sprinters do, except that I’m not an Olympic sprinter, and I have many other injuries, all of them self-inflicted.
But still, I’m an obedient patient and so I try to stretch the offending muscles. I try on both sides, and one side works out fine. But the other side isn’t such a huge success.
The next day, I’m having coffee in one of my favourite haunts and I bump into my favourite hipster.
What do you think happened when I tried to stretch my left thigh muscle? I ask him, as he caresses his lovely hipster bicycle.
You put your fucking back out, he laughed.
How did you know that?
Because everyone puts their fucking back out doing that, but don’t worry. You’ll straighten up after a day or two.
He was right, but now I have to face the physio.