The story of my dodgy ankles is a long and eventful one. I’ve suffered multiple sprains and injuries – all thanks to a nasty little condition called hypermobility – and have already had ankle surgery in 2013 and 2015 respectively. And now it seems I’m going down that road again.

Every time I injure an ankle, people ask whether it’s not just the universe’s way of telling me to stop doing sport. The sad thing is though, that they were never hurt while training or racing, but during freak accidents:

  1. Left ankle: Tripping off a step at my birthday after too much tequila.
  2. Right ankle 1: Tripping over my own feet while on a gentle family walk.
  3. Right ankle 2: Slipping on wet tiles while sorting out a power failure in our house.

Yes. I slipped on wet tiles. While sorting out a power failure. In my house.

At least I didn’t die.

But now I have a karate grading coming up, and less than three months before New York Marathon. Suddenly my goal has been reduced from “finishing this baby in 5 and a half hours” to “I’m going to run-walk it and finish before dark.”

Oh, and I’m back in the ankle brace, and am wrapped in transact patches.

Isn’t life just so ironic?