The funk of ageing pains

It’s tough. But I’ve formulated my prescription for rejuvenation.

I’ve been struggling with a disheartening mood since January. This isn't about the dynamics of my family or the state of my relationships. This is about ageing pains and how they creep in everywhere.

In January, I tore my calf muscle. The soleus. In February, I tore it again while performing one of my rehab exercises. This was excruciatingly dismal. My physio told me that my luck had been unbelievably bad, the primary injury and then this second, unfortunate setback. My plan for returning to running was sound, and my execution flawless. Except, I had not targeted my soleus muscle by performing bent-legged calf raises. And the soleus becomes vulnerable once you run over 10km.

I injured it on my second run over 10km.

The ultrasound after the second tear revealed that the original tear was larger than first assessed, meaning we had probably programmed my rehabilitation incorrectly.

Too fast. Too vigorous.

Pop went the calf muscle. Again.

And with that sound went the dream of returning to half-marathon running. That would have been happening around now.

I fell into a funk.

Not just about the running and all the work that I’d put into a gradual return over months. But also my lack of confidence in the physiotherapist's advice, and the recognition of what I had been warding off.

I am getting older.

The pandemic cocoon meant I had become more sedentary, occupied with more cerebral matters, writing, advising, parenting. Avoiding my body. And now that I returned to my body, it feels like a friend that is passively aggressively resentful about the lack of attention I have been paying to it.

“I’ve changed”, it tells me.

“You can’t treat me like the way you used to. I won’t put up with it anymore. It’s not my job to tell you what to do now. You’re going to have to pay me some attention and actually listen to me. You can’t just run off with your brain when things get difficult.”

Two can play at that game, I said to myself, though completely blind that I’d actually done this. But the clues have come in thick and fast.

I stopped paying attention. To what I ate, when I ate, and how much I was moving. I stopped checking my health stats, my weight, my resting heart rate, my VO2Max.

I railed against making changes. I railed against losing control. I stopped everything.

If I can’t have it my way, I won’t have anything at all.

And combining this with my decision to stop my line of work, it’s been a troubling past few months.

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A few days ago, I noticed I was out of breath when climbing the stairs to read a bedtime story to our middle daughter. I don’t think I’d ever experienced this before.

After she went to bed, I stepped on the scales. I was the heaviest I had ever been. I checked my VO2Max. It had fallen significantly.

And the real kicker: I can't outrun this one. I’m now too heavy. I would break something because the impact of running is hard enough on muscles, let alone with the extra weight I am now carrying.

So what now?

I know I work best when I have a target, but I don’t want this to be a physical one. I want to set a target that means I am functionally improved so that I can enjoy whatever experience that I line up for myself as my target.

Here’s my gentle plan for rejuvenation, mentally and physically.

I started last week with max 30 minute walks / static spin bike rides. And in low heart rate zones - slow and steady. I’ve raised that up to 45 minutes a day, and it feels comfortably achievable and I’ve already noticed I’m less breathless when coming up the stairs. I no longer have to add additional pauses in those passages in “Danny, Champion of the World”.

Once or twice a week, I’m supplementing that with 10 minute HIIT workouts to get my heart rate up. And I am aiming to write 500 words a day, more days than not. Anything, just to develop the habit again.

So what’s my target now? I’m going to Japan in August.

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

And I want to be functionally fit enough to enjoy a restorative exploration, a re-connection with old friends and colleagues, and a chance to do something fresh again.

A way to break out of my pandemic furrow.

A way to connect with myself and draw the thread of my past, present and future.

A way to be whole again.