Claire Hitchings Coaching

Searching "broken ribs" wasn't in my plans for 2019

Searching "broken ribs" wasn't in my plans for 2019

Searching "broken ribs" wasn't in my plans for 2019.

But that's where I'm at. So much for hitting 2019 right between the eyes!

Rewind a few days and I'm splattered on the floor after an unsuccessful attempt at jumping a tabletop on my BMX. I'm focusing all my efforts on not crying and slowly assessing the damage. My right side feels shredded. But hopefully all superficial. Phew! 

Once back in the car, the adrenaline rush was inevitably dialling itself down and things started to take a sinister turn. With my gloves off, I noticed my wedding ring finger. My knuckle was like a purple marble. Oh, that's not good. Flashbacks to 2017, when a broken finger took 17 weeks to heal. You don't easily forget a 17-week block of 1-armed swimming! The lyrics of "Fuckety Fuck" started to play on repeat in my head.

Then Anthony made me laugh and my ribs burnt with pain. Oh jeez. I turned to Anthony: "I think my finger and ribs are broken." 

It was a very quiet journey home!

Once at A&E I was in "the care" of a nurse who could have been a baddy character in a David Walliams' book. A tincy wincy bit of empathy would've been nice!

Once my elbow was patched up, the focus was my finger. "You need to get your rings off." "I don't think I can." "Well then we'll have to cut them off!" I looked at my three rings. I don't know exactly what they are worth. In sentimental value they are priceless. In real money terms they'd be worth a very nice bike. "Fuckety Fuck" started playing again.

I don't wish to recall what the next 10 minutes were like. Let's leave it at you will never ever find me wearing rings again whilst running or biking. On a lighter note, it did open my eyes to what is possible when using lube!

My finger was x-rayed. Not broken! Euphoria. The ribs...they don't x-ray. So, it's now a waiting game to see how quickly (or slowly) they heal.

In the meantime, I'll just be pissy about all the social media...New Year...New you...Shout your goals out loud and proud. There's never a good time to be injured but at New Year it really does suck!

*"Fuckety Fuck" is from the book Downhill From Here, written by Gavin Boyter who ran from John O'Groats to Land's End. The lyrics comprise just two words!!


Welcome to the "shattered goals for 2019" club. I will see your cracked ribs and raise it with a snapped Achilles. Had surgery to reattach it. Recovery and rehab will take me out for 6 months. So much for finally cracking 100km at this years Thunder Run...Fuckety Fuck. And before you ask I didn't do it whilst run through some mountain forest. It was on a tennis court.

Mark Doudican - 09th January 2019 at 5:17pm

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