Don't ever take your ankles for granted. Seriously, you rely on them more than

No doubt many of you are aware of the ongoing saga of my right ankle. Sprained often in childhood, once badly playing squash 8 years ago, and then properly knackered in November 2008 on a midweek Beamish Oddsox mountain bike night-ride.
Instant nausea at the time of the injury (embarrassingly but luckily only 200m into the ride) gave me a clue this was a more substantial injury. After a couple of hours of rest, ice, and elevation, I struggled to remove the mud-caked gore-tex sock. And as soon as I did, my ankle visibly swelled to the size of a melon in front of my eyes. "Yikes!" I thought.
Mrs Doubleu was preparing a presentation for work the following morning and thus not best pleased at my request for a lift to A&E. Needless to say, said A&E was full of Mrs Doubleu's least favourite patient demographic: drunken, vomiting, teenage girls. Despite the retching, Mrs Doubleu admirably soldiered on, preparing her talk on her laptop at a safe distance from the spew, whilst I had X-rays and painkillers.
The X-rays showed "no bony abnormality." I couldn't believe this, given the pain and swelling, so I asked the casualty junior if he could have my films checked by the registrar on duty as I was "a GP and everything". Now in all likelihood, he went for a cup of coffee, then came back and told me they'd been checked and were fine, but hey, I felt better about it all.
So when it didn't settle down, I had physio. I had a week's boarding in Whistler to get through. It did seem perverse though, to be icing the bastard after a morning in the snow. But the thing just didn't settle, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was slowly getting better. It plateaued by May, by which time I could cycle on the road and pay for it with a day of swelling. Running, climbing, boarding and mountain biking had much steeper payments.
To be continued...
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