Who's The Daddy: I went to a spin class and all I got was turf toe
Blithely, after a Les Mills Sprint class a few weeks ago, I announced to a mate that it’s the only thing I can go at full tilt these days without getting injured - and my middle-aged body said: “Hold my anti-inflammatories.”
Turf toe, because that’s what it is according to Dr Google, is a sprain of the main joint of the big toe caused by forced hyperextension, often when the toe is planted and the heel raised.
As bizarre injuries go, this isn’t one I saw coming. In much the same way as tipping off the side of a bike and smashing my elbow and wrist to pieces, or tearing back ligaments six months later while putting on a sock. The English language doesn’t have the words to describe that particular agony.
Spin classes are where I get my kicks these days. What with the booming techno, heart pounding at 170bpm and sweating cobs, it’s the closest I’ve been (or would like to get now) to a nightclub in 30 years.
Clinging to the handlebars for dear life with your legs pumping like the needle on a sewing machine doesn’t sound like a lot of fun - but don’t knock it til you’ve tried it. It only lasts half an hour (although some mornings it feels a lot longer), is held in the dry and the warm and gets you gloriously fit pretty quickly.
Indeed, after I’d eaten and drank myself into type 2 diabetes three-and-half years ago, high-intensity interval training was recommended as the perfect form of exercise - think of it like your veins being rodded like a drain.
Thankfully, after a few months of watching my diet like an Olympic gymnast, I lost 3st and got it into remission where it has remained ever since.
Anyway, turf toe, which was aggravated by contorting my feet in the pedals’ stirrups like claws for a bit more purchase in the sprints, hurts like hell. It’s easy to forget how much we use our big toes for balance, until yours won’t touch the floor and you can’t.
The main reason I spend my early mornings at the gym isn’t for reasons of vanity - it’s so that in 15 years I’ll be able to get myself on and off the toilet.
For once, a few days later I saw sense after my swollen right foot wouldn’t squeeze into my trainer - like some demented take on the Cinderella story - and I cancelled that morning’s stretchy class. A pity as we were down to do hips, tricky but a favourite.
So it’s been sandals ever since. And when it gets cold on dog walks I’m not too proud to wear socks. Yep. That’s me now. And I don’t care.
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