Friday 16 September 2016

Ache Rattle and Roll - Renovations Interrupted

It has been some time since I wrote a blog. This is for a couple of reasons;

One; We have had visitors over the summer for several weeks. This has been wonderful of course, but has led to weight gain, lethargy and general idleness in relation to all things relating to our renovation, here in Brittany.

 Two; I hurt! No wait ............ we both hurt!


A great time with dear friends







The realisation that my body had begun to betray me in the worst possible way kind of kind of crept up on me.

I used to be a very fit person. I left school at 16 years of age and went to work in a racing stables, where their idea of keeping the gals fit for duty, included tying lead weights to your legs and making you run everywhere – I kid you not, they really did that. Never occurred to me to complain!  I used to ride 5 or 6 lots of fizzy racehorses 6 days a week, plus all the mucking out, grooming etc that accompanies caring for horses. My career continued in other yards, as did my fitness.

I had three children and boinged effortlessly back into shape once I went back to the stables and worked it off.  My weight hardly ever crept over the 8 stone 2 mark and I was always a size ten.

The rot began in my mid 30’s when I ceased my outdoor work and went to University (I was a late bloomer) and qualified as a children’s social worker.  Contrary to popular belief, children’s social workers are not out there snatching children day and night – though it WAS part of the job. No, most of the time, you will find us in an office, behind a desk, trying to get to grips with the latest version of the software they have given us. We are the ones peering at the screen, squinting and usually cursing.

As any office based worker will tell you – there is always cake and there are always biscuits in there. It’s kind of an unwritten law. Often, no one knows how they get there – they just manifest on the spare desk in the office and you scoop them deftly up as you pass, saying, “When these are gone I’m not eating any more cakes”. This statement is accompanied by hysterical laughter from your colleagues; at which, you become offended and say, “What? I mean it” knowing full well that you will fail in your resolve the moment the next chocolate brownie appears.



It doesn't help living in France where these delicacies are so yummy





Anyway, that’s when it all began. I gained weight at a horrifying rate. Can I just pause here to ask why I can gain several pounds in less than a week, and yet to lose that same amount of weight it will take me at least a month? Why is that? 

My clothes became tighter, and after making a feeble attempt to chase an errant 14 year old who had escaped from his foster placement, I also realised how unfit I had become. This particular episode ended with me trying to save face and saying, “I’m not chasing you Ryan” (Why are they always called Ryan?) and standing still trying to look professional and not gasp for air, while hoping at the same time that my pelvic floor had held.

I joined several gyms at various times; it always ended badly - with me aching more than ever and feeling an abject failure as I tried in vain to work out surrounded by younger fitter bodies. I also never got to grips with that early morning workout, followed by a shower in an overheated changing room, which left me sweaty, cross and, with all those full length mirrors, more disillusioned that ever!

I then noted a deterioration when I was getting out of bed in a morning. I’m fairly certain that this simple task never used to be accompanied by sound effects! I sounded like my grandmother – a lot of old lady type oohin and ahhing as I straightened up, along with comments as to the current state of my back. Something like this;

Oooh my back’s aching this morning I don’t know what I’ve done. I didn’t really do anything yesterday did I? Why should it ache like this? Ouch that really hurts.

The above statements are made as I make my way to the bathroom, walking in a manner resembling a slightly disabled hermit crab, while emitting more sound effects.

Sigh.

The next thing to betray me were my fingers. Once so nimble, plaiting 2 or 3 horses in less than an hour in readiness for the races, typing quickly, making pastry and much more. Suddenly, they ached. I would wake up in the night flexing both hands open and closed in the vain hope that it would effect a cure.

It didn’t.

Steve was in no better a state. He too has always been fit and well. Ex-military, karate, running, boxing, and building – the man was fit! Suddenly, that had all changed and we would have the most unromantic conversations in the middle of the night which went something like this;

Me; Do your hands ache?
Steve; Yes, they do, both of them actually. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s all that drilling I did the other day – flex flex
Me; Yes, maybe that’s it. I wonder why mine are aching so much – flex flex
Steve; My knee’s hurting too – bend bend
Me; Oh no, really? I thought that was getting a bit better – flex flex
Steve; No, if anything it’s worse – bend, bend, flex flex

You get the picture!

I recalled my mother speaking words of doom as she warned me darkly of things to come, the things I could apparently look forwards to as an “older” person. “You wait till you’ve got all these aches and pains” she would mutter as she walked in a now depressingly familiar crab like manner holding her back. “It comes to us all” she predicted gloomily. 

I refused to admit she was right, and continued in my flexing, oh and the taking of supplements.

This is a new thing, and something I thought was reserved for people who read over 50's magazines and shop at Marks and Spencer’s or Holland and Barrett (ok ok I shop at them both). I began scouring the Internet for answers to the achy finger issue. Ha! Here, this is clearly what we need – Cat’s Claw. Not literally the claw from a cat you understand, but a supplement called Cat’s Claw. I sent for some of course, along with Omega 3 oil and other marvelous little pots of promise.

Steve and I then had slightly different, but no less romantic discussions;

Me; Do your fingers feel any better since we’ve been taking those tablets? Flex flex
Steve (looking thoughtful while flexing) Hmm, not sure, maybe a little
Me; I can’t tell; my fingers still ache
Steve; Mine do too, but maybe we’ve not taken them for long enough – flex flex
Me; Yes, I’m sure you’re right, we’ll have to keep taking them and hope they work – flex flex because my fingers really ache.

And so it goes on. The treacherous aching fingers, the horribly creaky backs, Steve’s knee, which in reality needs surgery, but as our French health cards have yet to materialise, this is a vain hope. With a poignant smile, I recall the days when we could refer to our knees as the left one and the right one, instead of the good knee and the bad knee!

I have also developed problems with my shoulders and arms aching – this is not least due to the fact that our beloved rescue dog Merlin pulls like a steam train on a downhill track. I mutter at him as he propels me along, “No wonder I ache with you wrenching my arms out of their sockets five times a day”. He wags and keeps going, certain that I am enjoying the hunt as much as he is 



Our beautiful Griffon Bleu De Gascogne, Merlin





And so, we press on, Steve with his knee support, me with my huge leather gloves for extra grip on the steam train hound. We take our supplements, we flex and we hope improvement is around the corner.



Steve keeps on going





Some aspects of getting older are no fun at all, but as a dear friend of mine always reminds me, the alternative is not so attractive, so we’ll be grateful for what we do have rather than lament the failure of our once fit and well bodies.


Ah well, I’m sure it’s time I took some tablets
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My latest book Caught in Traffick is now available via Amazon. The book is the sequel to my bestselling debut book, Known to Social Services. Set in Thailand and focusing on the organised crime of child traffickers; Caught in Traffick takes a fictional, yet horrifically realistic glimpse into the dark underworld of the ruthless traffickers.


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Merlin the Hound Dog is a short story about our rescue dog, available as a download via Amazon

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Thanks for stopping by



Freya 

2 comments:

  1. Oh, yes, you have clever friends, I found the box by clicking on the "no comments" link....loving the blog, remembering all those aches & pain, don't worry, they don't go away :-P...lol..

    Also loved your latest book, kept me reading all through the night, so I am now blaming you for all the bags under my eyes xx

    ReplyDelete
  2. I clicked on 'no comments' and this box appeared.
    'Pelvic floor' Haha.

    ReplyDelete