I’ve been feeling powerful recently.
In the physical realm, especially, I’ve had a searing energy, honed and expressed through sport.
Boxing, kettlebells, basketball, a little bit of netball and dodgeball, sea-swimming to keep it fresh.
I am in the thick of it as a boxing coach, often ending up sparring my trainees.
As a PT, too, I lead by example and perform the workouts alongside my clients.
Kettlebells-wise, I am looking forward to a 3-day instructor course this weekend. You have to complete 100 reps with a 24kg ‘bell in 5 minutes to pass, and I’m hammering 40kg snatches every other morning in preparation.
The thought of boxing competitively again has even crossed my ape-like mind of late.
Why bore you with this information?
I had my first basketball game in about 4 years yesterday.
Warming up, I felt so relaxed, bouncy and powerful. This was going to be a good game.
In the scramble to get to the basket, my arm is pulled downwards in a painfully familiar manner, and my shoulder dislocates out the back, pinning my arm to my side.
Fortunately, there is a physiotherapist on hand to pop the fecker back in, so I didn’t have to suffer the rigmarole of going up to A&E.
This was the most enjoyable dislocation I’ve had, in fact, for some reason smiling between grimaces, my attention turning to the players who are squeamishly attempting to watch it being manoeuvred and yanked back into its socket.
As I said to my sister, who’s been plagued with the same shoulder injury, I would much rather suffer it myself than see her dislocate her shoulder again.
What now?
In previous injuries, including the last ‘big’ one I had dislocating my shoulder in a boxing bout, and others had through basketball and rugby, I would be in a fecking fizz.
The sky is falling.
I remember after one such dislocation, maybe 18 or 19 years old, I bought a bottle of wine and drank it by myself sat on the Bridge, chain smoking roll-ups in a sulk.
Presently, I am contentedly en route to a kettlebell certification I have little chance of participating in effectively, let alone passing, with a couple of knowns and unknowns.
Knowns:
– Right arm is out of action for a hot minute
– Doubly triply grateful I have my health and happiness (especially as I see at the airport a lady using a breathing mask and a man with one leg)
Unknowns:
– The amount of time until I can be a participative coach and PT and athlete
– How far I can get through a 100 snatch test using just my left arm
As ridiculous as it sounds, I feel like this injury is already a net-positive.
The irony of feeling peak-powerful one minute to taking a literal minute to put a shirt on is not lost on me – it’s a lesson.
And I’m going to learn a lot about myself this weekend and over the next couple of months.
So huzzah to that, dear shags.
The Works and Chirps of a Guernseyman 