Knee Jerk

I feel like the Titanic sinking. Yesterday disaster struck and in true OTT Whetton style I am now convinced I won't make the starting line on 21st April. Surely there is  Hollywood blockbuster in there somewhere?

[To be heard in Hollywood voiceover man's voice] "In a world where Saturday's usually mean Under 9s football and where mountains of washing consume the adults. One woman stands firm in her fight against the impossible; 26.2 miles. Every moment in her life has led to this huge undertaking but can 3 months of intense training undo 37 years of bodily abuse; chocolate, alcohol and general couch potatoe-itis are proving too much for her old knees to bare. Can she beat the odds? Will a knee replacement be the answer? Will an intense regime of drugs and physio work? Is ice better than heat? Will she reach the goal on the Mall? So many questions, such intrigue and right now no one knows. Watch the story unravel before your very eyes"

This is my tale of allure, romance, determination, pain and then heartbreak. Some details may be slightly embellished for the purpose of this blog. All characters appearing in this work are non-fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely non-coincidental. blah blah blah...

Picture the scene: 11am Saturday morning lying on the couch of a rather young, male physio, naked from the knees down, his young, soft hands gliding along honey coloured limbs, toned to perfection with toes painted the most vivid shade of on trend cherry red.

Now the picture reality: 11am Saturday morning lying, breathless (due to the usual Saturday morning groundhog day of looking for matching football socks, goalie gloves, shin pads, trainers etc etc) on the couch of  rather young (so young I wonder if he has started to shave yet and feel strangely maternal towards him) physio, naked from the knees down (dressed in borrowed football shorts as I overlooked the fact that my skinny jeans would not roll up sufficiently for inspection), his young, soft hands prodding my pasty white (and only partially shaven; well it's so cold that only the bottom of my calf gets an airing and that is only when I am running so why bother with anything above the "plimsoll" line?), cellulite rippling and toes emblazoned in the most vivid shades of bruised black, blue and yellow.

45 mins and £35 later I leave feeling embarrased and was strapped in a multitude of bright blue tape my knee cap resembling a face. Having  been touched, rubbed and strapped I feel worn out and can virtually hear "Alans" pub chat with his Rugby team about the 37 year old yeti he is treating!

But no time to worry about that. I had 20 miles to run and so run I must do. But sadly one bagel, 3 gels and a bottle of lucozade later and my knee was more than unhappy. It was shooting pain through my leg with every stride. I gallantly continued on, singing inspirational songs "Chattanooga Choo Choo", "We'll meet again" and "It's a long way to Tipperarey" but nothing stopped the pain. I dreamt of my pinup, tried visualising the Mall and the thousands of people cheering me on, I thought about the huge sums I was going to raise but yet the tears still fell and I accepted I was beaten. One phone call later and my own cavalary arrived, a little aghast at my mascara'd face and hysterical wails but full of hugs, sympathy and Sainsburys finest petit pois.

And so the movie closes leaving audiences across the globe on the edge of their seats. How can one knee possibly heal in 6 weeks? How can our heroine make up the 5 miles missed in training? How how how....? Who knows but I can assure you the sequel will most definitely feature best supporting actor "Alan".