So I finally put up the cash for a pre-emptive appointment with a physiotherapist for some tips on how to improve my running and how to prevent injuries before they happen.  In principle it sounds like a sensible idea.  I love running.  I want to participate in running for the rest of my life and I want to run long distances.  So a check up on my form, flexibility etc. now, before I have any major problems makes sense.  A good physio should be able to spot tightness and muscle weaknesses from a mile away and should be able to give advice on the best way to correct any of these imbalances…

But… I was surprisingly reluctant to organise it.  I didn’t have any problems, not really, who was I trying to be?

My major concern was not money (it was £45 for an hour if you were interested) but rather this imposter feeling I got about the whole thing.  I am not an elite runner trying for county best or world records.  I am a slow recreational runner just trying to be kind of average.  I felt silly.  Like I would be wasting the physios’ time.  To make matters worse to get to the physios office you have to first walk through a gym.

I haven’t been to a gym since one brief foray into the world of physical activity in 2010.  That gym was air conditioned and had a lot of TV screens whereas this gym was sort of squished into a long, dark corridor.  The first thing that hit me was the smell; stale body odour permeates the air and immediately makes me want to turn back.  And then the second thing was this – an almost overwhelming urge to cry because I so did not belong here.  Everyone was young, sleek and positively bouncy – moving effortlessly from squat to lunge to strange metal equipment whilst holding seamless conversations.  Whilst I, clad in cycle helmet and backpack and reflective gear, look like a giant fluorescent snail clumsily traversing a path.  I am so disorientated by their youthful exuberance and perfect bodies that I managed to get lost.  Yes, lost, in a corridor. Bah!

After further navigation I manage to arrive for the actual appointment without crying!  And so it begins.  To start with I have to answer a series of health and lifestyle questions and whilst I am still apprehensive the guy (Nick) is a runner too and soon my enthusiasm returns.  As we talk about marathons and planned races and targets I feel myself getting calmer.  Nick doesn’t treat me like someone who is dabbling in sport or dwell on the fact that I used to weigh 91 kg he just wants to know, genuinely it seems, what I want to do now and how he can help get me there.

I change into my running gear and then we have an hour of chatting, awkward posturing and nervous running back and forth on a track.  I am not exactly enjoying the moment but Nick tries to make it as comfortable as possible, explaining things in a warm professional tone, nodding encouragement and throwing out the names of muscles at random (I don’t have the heart at this point to tell him I am not that kind of Doctor).

In the end I get my verdict: I am an over-pronating, heel striking, tight hip flexor, weak right knee monster.  Not that Nick described me quite that way, I am paraphrasing a little.  But good news is shoes and balancing on one leg whilst I brush my teeth can help with my stability, stretches can loosen my hips and a variety of exercises with a resistance band can fix my out-of-track knee.  Not so bad after all.  This is prehab baby, not rehab! Plus I am honestly impressed that physio Nick managed to pick out my right knee (if you remember that is what was hurting after the Clacton on Sea Half Marathon!) – Weirdly I never noticed that it sort of grinds before.

As I exit through the gym, wearing Ugg boots with my running gear and looking more mismatched than ever, I honestly don’t care what these people make of me.  I am a runner.  Anyone can be a runner – isn’t that what I have been saying all along?!  It’s time I took my own advice and actually believed that about myself.