A slight trauma.....

"The CT scan showed nothing abnormal to your brain so you can go home now"  Those were the words of an unsmiling, unsympathetic, heartless woman who masqueraded as a doctor at Huddersfield Royal Infirmary to where I'd been rushed in a blaring ambulance, unable to walk without support and unable to sign a consent form with my left hand.

"How will I get home?" I asked.

"Can't someone pick you up?"

"Not really,".  My partner was at  a meeting 30 miles away and her phone was switched off"

"Haven't you enough money for a taxi?" was her next question.

"Well, yes, but I was rather expecting you'd provide transport and a little help".

"Well, we can but not for about four hours" she said, abruptly turning on her heel and leaving me stranded in a wheelchair. 

 I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  Warmth, sympathy and understanding, parts of the Hippocratic Oath, seemingly meant nothing to her.

I fumbled my way along the wall out of the ward, dragged my leg up stairs and across the bridge to the main entrance and phoned a taxi that kindly took me as near to my door as he could get.

I spent a weekend licking my wounds, lovingly cared for by my wonderful partner.

"Perhaps you should try a little walk down to the river" she said on Sunday.

I tried but could only manage a few hundred yards on wobbly legs.
. . . . . .

Back home in Almondbury I forced myself into "I can and I bloody well will" mode.

On a sunny Monday lunchtime I managed a mile walk with a stop off at a favourite fish and chip shop for sustenance.

I did it    (Click to enlarge pictures)

Tuesday found me heading up Castle Hill, determined to make it to the top a mile and 300ft of ascent ahead.  I did, after one or two little rest stops. 

A gentleman flying a drone was persuaded to photograph me in front of the tower.  He was impressed when I explained I couldn't even walk 100 yds 4 days ago.  I wanted the picture to prove I'd actually made it.

Trying a few reps...

On Wednesday I was on a local cricket field attempting short repetitions, but at speed my left leg seemed reluctant to go the same way as me!  After three or four attempts I opted for a steady circuit and called it a day.

Come Saturday evening my wonderful partner enquired  "You wont be getting up for a run round Grimwith in the morning,will you?"   "We'll see" I replied.

Running round Grimwith reservoir, albeit slowly, 4 days after my TIA

Much to her surprise, at 6.30 I was out of bed and rarin' to go!

After running the 4½ mile circuit I was back at the car ahead of her, leaned over the door laughing somewhat hysterically.
Old Runningfox was back in action.

Made it, all the way round

OK, I was 13 minutes slower than usual, and maybe didn't look very stylish, but nine days earlier I was feeling distraught and wondering whether I'd ever run again.

I wont be running as often in future.  I'd even considered changing the name of my blog to 'The online diary of a Geriatric Jogger' but 'jogger' is a dirty word among runners!
Besides, I think I still look like a runner (?).

Keeping going

Some days later, I tootled off on another hilly run accompanied by my wonderful partner.

Passing the mast on High Lane 

  Embarrassed by my slowness I'd chosen a route where hopefully no-one would see us but was surprised to pass quite a few weekend walkers.

Through the gate on Tinker's Lane

There were dark clouds, very little sunshine but intense humidity.  We'd started out over-dressed and had to shed layers half way round.

Delightful running on Tinker's Lane

It had forecast thunderstorms so we were anxious to get home before they struck.  But there were still things that stopped us in our tracks.

Flowering heather

Like a patch of early flowering heather ahead of the 'Glorious Twelfth' that just had to be photographed and smelt.

Hey, wait for me...

It came darker for a time, calling for us to put fastest foot forward and get on our way.

Running under a cloud

At this stage I was struggling to keep up as my wonderful partner tore off ahead, but was content to trundle along at my own speed, just happy to be out running again after the recent trauma.

At the gate by High Garnshaw

Reaching the gate by High Garnshaw farm the air was filled with the bleating of penned sheep, possibly waiting to be stripped of their woolly coats.

Meadowsweet in the ghyll

We pressed on, down the ghyll, past nodding harebells and fragrant meadowsweet to arrive home dry so far as rain was concerned but otherwise soaked in sweaty gear that went straight into the washer to freshen up..
Ready for next week....