So, literally two hours after posting about having my prophesised 2016 breakthrough in fun, healthy pursuits …. I went running.

I then proceeded to turn my ankle and found myself groaning like a cow during child-birth on an abandoned, ice-cold road with no phone and no pride.

Thankfully two walkers *were* enjoying the Sunday morning Undercliff peace.

“Do you have a phone?” I wailed to the approaching couple with the brazen, over familiarity of a wounded warrioress, dragging herself off the battlefield of fitness-injuries.

“No, we don’t! I’m sorry,” gasped the lady, hurrying over. “What can we do?”

“Go. Get. My …”

I paused: paused in that stupid pausey way I always do just before I wonder what a thirty-five (nearly thirty-six) year old woman should call her man, who doesn’t seem to suit the titles “partner, boyfriend, companion” or “fiancé-or-not-?-depending-on-whether-or-not-you-call-someone-who-you-are-not-officially-marrying-in-a-conventional-marriage-sort-of-way-a-fiance”. In hindsight, I wanted to say “get my Adam” but that would have sounded a bit peculiar.

There was a moment of strangled silence then I unpaused.

“…. Bloke!” I choked. “Get My BLOKE.”

Sounding demure.

Luckily, the walkers looked like Bloke and Bird material (as in Guardian Angel Bloke and Bird) and didn’t bat an eyelid at my uncouthness.

Bless their beauty, they tried to lift me and locked arms on either side, attempting to help me limp up the road.

It didn’t work.

In the end I reassembled my buttocks on the cold tarmack, hoisted my rapidly swelling ankle up onto the bar of the fence and rasped out some very bad instructions as to how to find my house and knock load enough to get Adam to answer.

Then I sat there and moaned and hyperventilated.

And groaned.

And wailed.

And cried like a baby.

Seriously.

I cried Like A Baby.

Meanwhile, Adam was practically naked in the bathroom.

He had just cajouled two-and-a-half-year-old Reid into having a bath. This is quite a feat. He had then filled the tub with bubbles and boats and was about to peel off his pants and jump in as well … when suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door.

Cursing me for coming back from my run so quickly, Ads hooked Reid OUT of the bath and left him dripping on a towel. He pulled up his boxers and ran downstairs to do a quick dash to the door before getting back up to the hot bubbles. Charging through the kitchen, he threw open the door … only to be faced with a shocked looking walker. (I’ve just been corrected by Ads that the walker wasn’t shocked but actually VERY happy looking to see him).

After everyone’s shock/joy/whatever had passed and the urgency of my situation was communicated, the walkers walked on and Ads leapt in the car and came to find me in the nick of time.

I say it was the nick of time because I hadn’t realised quite how dangerous it was for me to be stretched out on the side of a non-paved road, with my foot extended into a fence until a green Mini, wielded by an over-excitable youth had come slamming around the corner and nearly run over my head.

But then, thankfully, my lovely Ads arrived, helped me into the car and I proceeded to cry like a baby again. (I think I was in shock).

I haven’t run since.

In fact, I have mainly been sitting on my bottom on the sofa having a break – and feeling like a bit of a douche-bag that I’d published a post about a “prophesied breakthrough” in my health.

Ha.

My ligaments had practically broken through!

Who would have guessed it??

Yet … this in itself has been kind of like a breakthrough.

Because I’ve had to stop.

I’ve had to sloooooow down and take a deeeeeeeep pause for breathe.

And read books.

And gaze a bit at the beauty of life.

And rejuvenate in a peaceful, healing sort of way.

I’ve been physically FORCED to let go of all doing-ness with the guiltlessness of the injured and it’s been absolutely divine!

Following the breaking through of my ankle ligaments, the man-cub fell ill and was rendered sofa-bound and lethargic. (Other parents will sympathise at how *tough* this can be, as it also renders the carer of the child as sofa-bound and lethargic – but able to read books and relax and put ones feet up whilst drinking endless cups of tea and caring for the little one, obviously).

Then I received my karma for relishing the extended me-time by contracting the same bug that Reid had and couldn’t move for four days.

But even that was quite restful.

In a vomiting, stomach cramping, zombie-walking, head-sponge bed-ridden restful sort of way.

And now – two or something weeks later – I feel like a new woman!

Yep,  I’m still hobbling, I’m not intending to run in the near future, I feel slightly nauseous and have a head full of snot …. but I have read some awesomely cool books, smashed through some anxiety polished glass ceilings, written all of my Christmas cards with the organisational flair of a unhinged housewife and broken through the inevitable lurgie just before Christmas!

Hurrah.

Also, I just read Adam this post (to make sure it was okay to mention his nakedness) and he frowned when I got to the bit about not knowing what to refer to him as.

“Well, what shall I call you when I refer to you to others?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes and thought. Then, slowly he said, “I think you should call me your Beloved.”

“Yes,” I replied and put my head on his shoulder. “I like that.”

And I really do!

My Beloved Bloke.

Hmm.

Ahh.