The value of a virtual physio

Whether Zooming, FaceTiming, Microsoft Teaming or old school Skypeing, we’ve all spent a large proportion of the past eight months engaging with other human beings via a screen. From once being an occasional novelty, the video call has become a central part of our professional and personal lives, with “you’re on mute,” now replacing “good morning” as a daily greeting to colleagues, family and friends.

However, while I have largely embraced this technological leap, I found myself approaching my first ever virtual physio appointment last week with a large degree of scepticism.  For starters, the session – held at my dining room table – was going to cost me the same as a visit to the actual clinic. 

Arranged in order to find out whether I can finally progress to running after spending eight weeks side lined with an Achilles injury, I would – for over a pound a minute - have usually expected at least some degree of massage or manipulation. Like taking your car for a service and getting a free valet, in usual times I would expect my physio’s sound advice and guidance to come with a value for money crack of the back or loosening of muscle tightness. After all, without that it would just be a very expensive chat.

But in lockdown times, physical contact was off the table, literally, and I was left with no option but to go 100% virtual with my follow-up appointment. So one morning last week I found myself logging into a Zoom chat with my physio, Ian, to discuss my Achilles, armed only with a notepad and pen. As is the case with every Zoom-based encounter – whether it’s an interview I see on the news or a call with a colleague – the first thing I did was to immediately judge his background and set-up. 

Choosing not to hide behind a blurred background or green screen image, Ian was sat in a busy room where shelves bulged with what looked like computer and camping equipment. His cat, meanwhile, was busying itself climbing across boxes behind him. It was all a million miles away from meeting in the sterile clinic, but it oddly put me immediately at ease and we soon got to chatting about my ailing Achilles.

What followed was a brilliant 45 minute discussion about the best way to get back to running, how to approach warming up and cooling down, how to make best use of a foam roller, when to do eccentric exercises and what to consider when choosing trail running shoes. While contradicting a lot of what I had been reading on the internet, this was advice that was specifically tailored to me and my injury. Ian knew me, knew my injury and was able to advise based on the fine details of our conversation.

I came away from the session with detailed notes, a good idea of the road I would have to travel in order to recover properly and, for the first time in a while, a positive outlook as to my return to running. Okay, I had missed out on a sports massage, but this had been a thoroughly worthwhile virtual appointment and provided as much value for money as an in-person session.

The physio practice is also a small business and, like all other small businesses during Covid-times, has been struggling to make ends meet. So I would urge any runner reading this who may be injured and in need of the advice of a good physio, or any such specialist, to reach out, support your local practice and book yourself a virtual appointment. 

As for me, I may not be about to break any Strava records, but I’m nevertheless looking forward to my first five-minute run in a few days’ time. Thanks Ian.

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Why not running is harder than running

I'm now two weeks into my eight-week injury-enforced layoff, and I'm struggling. Not lacing up my trainers, locking on to a GPS signal and heading out on to the trails - especially on a Sunday - is proving far harder than I imagined. If this is cold turkey, then I'm the running-equivalent of Renton from Trainspotting, in desperate need of a hit and looking everywhere I can for an alternative high. 

The problem I have, however, is that there is no real alternative. The physio has told me not to overly stretch my Achilles while it mends, so that rules out most leg-based cardio; lane swimming during coronavirus times feels like sharing a Covid bath with strangers and my mountain bike is busying itself rusting in the garage. That leaves our indoor bike, an eBay-procured machine that has been used more often as a clothes horse than it has as a cycling aid.

But this is all I have and over the past fortnight, I have dusted it down, taken the saddle and attempted to pedal my way to a sweat. 

It has not gone well. The bike and I are not friends. For starters, my bum was not made with cycling in mind. Mother Nature's decision not to bless me with any padding of note to my rear has left me with saddle sore nether regions with every bike I have ever owned, and the indoor one is no different. 

The result has been several highly uncomfortable and, quite frankly, boring rides in my dining room. I have taken to watching TV as I pedal, but even this doesn't seem to make time go any faster on the bum-torturing device. Cycling indoors just doesn't give you the same feeling of effort and exhaustion that a good threshold run or hill session would. Staring at the wall or watching repeats of Top Gear also doesn't compare to blasting your way along a muddy trail or taking in a hard earned view from the top of your favourite hill.

Of course, the other issue with being injured is that wherever you go, you inevitably come across perfectly fit runners - with their wholly intact Achilles tendons - bouncing along the pavements or paths with a broad smile and a cheery 'good morning.' Like taking a dieting chocoholic on a tour of the Cadbury factory, forcing a reciprocal smile takes a Herculean effort.

So I have found myself being far grumpier than usual over the past two weeks. My wife will testify to this, as I have taken to moaning more than usual and have been eating peanut M&Ms by the kilo. Being forced to abstain from running for two months feels so unfair and it is only when you have it taken away from you in this manner, that you realise just how much you rely on it for your general wellbeing.

Without wanting to sound like Sting, running grounds me. It is the only thing that works to relieve the stresses and strains of life, literally allowing me to run off the physical manifestations of stress (the headaches and tight shoulders), as well as the psychological affects (the worries, the 'what ifs' and the 'I should haves' of life).

As Joni Mitchell once said: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."  

And as for the bike...anyone ever tried cycling with a cushion down your trousers?

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When a nagging Achilles injury rules you out for two months

“No running for six to eight weeks,” said the physio, despite my best attempts to convince him that my nagging Achilles injury wasn’t anything to worry about. Although not unexpected, the news was a blow. I was staring at the prospect of a two month running hiatus and, as I assumed the position for a sports massage of the calf muscle to which my offending Achilles was attached, I tuned out the technical jargon pouring forth from the man to whom I was paying almost a pound a minute, to contemplate the prospect of a prolonged break from running.

What was I going to do instead? What was going to give me the cardiovascular high and the mindful moments that otherwise come from pounding the trails and pavements? How was I going to get through two months of other people’s Strava achievements without becoming irrationally bitter and envious? How was I going to cope with not achieving my 1,000 miles in 2020 goal? What on earth was I going to talk about now? Was I going to have to get on a bike?

Fortunately I was pulled out of my stupor within seconds of the aforementioned physio commencing his massage of my calf. Like taking a cricket ball to the testicles, the searing pain sharpened my focus intently. “Yes, it’s a bit tight isn’t it?” said my torturer as he buried his thumbs into my calf muscle. Every ounce of me wanted to scream; “FUCK YES, GET OFF ME YOU BASTARD,” but I remained face down on the bench and mumbled; “Yes it is a bit, isn’t it,” adopting a typically British approach to adversity by downplaying the excruciauting agony and attempting a conversation.

What seemed like an eternity later, and after the most painful weather-based chat of my life, my assailant completed his thumb battering of my calf and I clambered off the table. A walk around the room didn’t seem to ease the pain, however, as I hobbled around like Bambi on ice trying to encourage my minced calf to recover.

“Might be a little stiff for a while,” said the butcher, before chuckling to himself and relaying further bad news about the Achilles tendinosis that was going to sideline me for the next two months. So, in pain, depressed and £50 worse off, I left the physio with nothing more than instructions to practice weighted heel drops three times a day for the next few weeks. 

That was a week ago and today, as I write this, I am most definitely going through running cold turkey. I feel less fit and my mood is generally miserable, but I am trying to cling to the positives brought about by the situation, namely; the fact that I’m saving a fortune on water and shampoo by only showering once a day; the washing machine is taking a break from relentless kit washes and I’m going to get two bonus months of longevity out of my trainers.

The other bonus, of course, is time. I have evenings and mornings back, I have more time with my kids at the weekend and I have the opportunity to finally address the one area of my running that I have purposefully ignored for years; my core strength.

So, while my trainers and trail shoes gather dust, I am on a mission to improve my core strength and mobility. I want to get back to running with a core more iron than rubber, an ability to hold a plank for five minutes and the strength that I know I’m missing to ensure I stay injury free for as long as I can. Of course, I know that I’ve shirked this area of my fitness for far too long, so in a weird way I am grateful to this injury – and to my heavy-handed physio – for giving me the gift of time and the chance to reassess what I want out of running in the long term. 

Here’s to plank challenge day one…let’s try one minute for starters!

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Why not running is harder than running