The Limping Sportsman

I entered this year with the good intention of talking regular exercise has been somewhat thwarted by some knee pain that I have been labelling as a sports injury. Mrs M seems intent on ridiculing this description by telling everyone that it happened in the local pub.

In this she is correct but I still maintain that sport was directly involved in bringing on the pain I now feel.

I was playing crib with two friends and my ninety-year old father in law whilst keeping one eye on the TV that was showing the other drinking regulars the selected game of football.

Being a dutiful son-in-law I was determined to ensure my wife’s dad had a peaceful night, given he is a mere ten years off reaching his century, by making all the trips for ale on his behalf.

As I rose from the table attempting one such trip I intended heading left towards the bar when the rest of our party made the ‘someone has nearly scored’ noise that football fans make in unison. Because the TV was on the opposite side of the room I instinctively tried to turn right to view the spectacle but had already put most of my weight in the other direction; thus twisting my knee and causing the said sports injury.

Who knew a game of crib could be so dangerous?

Not long after this incident I visited my father who is recovering well from a hip operation. I, of course, told him the full tale without pausing to allow Mrs M to express her opinion on such matters.

My dad nodded his understanding with a smile and we walked toward lounge to continue our conversation about leg related pain. At this point my bride and my mother started to chuckle in the way that wives do when they have noticed some deficiency in their husbands world.

‘You are both limping in the same way’ my mother exclaimed continuing to laugh at us in our hour of need.

‘You could borrow your dad’s walking stick’ added Mrs M as if we weren’t already in enough pain.

On our return to the Aire Valley I determined that this injury was not going to make me look like an old man before my time; well not in public at least.

With this in my mind yesterday I agreed to walk the two miles to the office and determined not make any of the whining noises that had become part of my custom.

What I didn’t account for when I made this decision was the fact that we live in one of the hilliest parts of the country. And it seems that when you have a sports related knee injury walking down hill is far harder than walking up hill.

As we turned the last corner before arriving at our destination Mrs M tripped ever so slightly.

‘Oops’ she said steadying herself by holding my arm ‘I don’t want to have a sports injury’

‘You couldn’t use that term for it anyway’ I replied laying claim to the title.

‘Fell walking is more of a sport than cribbage’ she replied, once again believing she had won the argument.

I limped off in a sportsman like manner without saying a word,