"Fat to Fittie"

Since I announced that I was going to walk up the 199 steps at Whitby for charity, there have been a few people expressing how shit a challenge that is, the thought being that a man with no legs could do it in about an hour by shuffling up on his bum, well I know for a fact that’s not possible, when a legless friend of mine tried it, he was arrested for arseing about. Okay, I made that up, but the fact remains there are some who don’t think it’s a real test, perhaps they don’t realise I have severe osteoarthritis in both hips plus a torn shoulder and that doing normal tasks is a massive effort. With this in mind, perhaps it might be a good idea for me to take them through what I consider a typical day.

I never sleep particularly well because of the pain and sort of drift in and out throughout the night, when I do wake up properly, I need about thirty mins before I can get out of bed, spending the time stretching my legs so when I emerge from the duvet, they will actually carry me across the bedroom without collapsing onto the drum kit, can you imagine that noise! Having a shower can be fun, trying to lift my leg over the bath, it’s a serious balancing job using the sink and a walking stick. The other day I thought it’d be a good idea to push the stick on the top of the bath into the corner, was all going well till I got the pressure I was putting on the handle wrong and it slid off into the bath, didn’t really need the shower that morning to wake me up, banging my head on the tiles and stretching one hip to breaking point did it pretty well. I do worry about slipping, I got one of those plastic mats that are supposed to help, but the corner turned up and I tripped over it, the sink saved me that day, luckily it’s a solid one. After risking my life keeping clean, it’s time to go downstairs, this is a challenge in itself, during the descent I often think that should I fall, would the emergency services be able to push open the door with me lying behind it, then realise that I’ve again left the key in the door overnight, so the spare one in a lockbox outside won’t work, which means they won’t be able to get in. Great, I’ll just lie there for a few hours in a pool of my own urine, while they try to reach me.

Once I’m down, it’s usually an hour of pain before the morphine kicks in, it’s at this time I plan my day, depending on how much it hurts and what movement I have. Of course some days I have appointment’s, but this is why I very rarely plan to go anywhere before 10am, I never know how long it’s going to take me to get changed. Clothes are always downstairs ready, absolutely no way can I get dressed after the shower, I need time for my legs to dry on their own, cos I’m not bending down to do them, so it’s always after breakfast that I go through the drama most people think nothing about. If I’m going swimming, then it’s just the swim shorts, no point in having the grief of putting boxers on and taking them off an hour later, I just have to be careful to make sure I shake properly, someone once suggested using toilet paper to dry off, but I associate that with the very elderly, so if it’s okay, I’ll refrain from this method for as long as possible. Very rarely do I wear anything but shorts, it’s very hard to put on jeans and trousers, so it’s only when I really have to, does this happen. At home I have one of those grabbers to help, but you’d be amazed at what I’ve learnt to do with a walking stick when out, It’s a skill I’ve mastered in putting on my pants and shorts. Socks are obviously a definite no, partly because I don’t like them, but mostly cos I can’t put them on. I managed to use one of those sock aids the other week, because there was no one around to help, what a flipping nightmare. Whilst it sounds like something Bob Geldof would be organising, it’s actually a contraption designed for the elderly and cripple’s to help them put their own socks on without help, what it doesn’t say is your feet have to be the width of a Mars bar for it to work.

Finally time to leave the house, this is where the next stage of grief begins, getting in the car. You wouldn’t believe the hard work it entails just trying to get my feet over the door sill, even worse when I have shoes on and the reason I drive bare foot (yes it is legal). quite often my head ends up across the passenger seat as I’m almost horizontal, dragging myself in, not good if your giving a girl you’re trying to impress a lift. I aren’t saying this happens very often, but the few times it has, lets say the first lift was the last. Once in, it takes a couple of minutes for full adjustment, I’ve learnt not to use the handle above the door, they’re not as strong as you think, instead reaching out and putting my hand flat on the roof, fine until someone tries to help and shuts the door for you. When it comes to planning a route, I have to think a lot about where I’m going and try to minimise the amount of times I have to get in and out, the quick stop for supplies seems like nothing to most, but for me is a huge load of pain.

I hope I’ve highlighted just some of the issues I have to face and why my attempt to walk up the 199 steps is not something to take lightly. All I can do to train for it is try and build up my stamina and I’m working on that now by swimming, currently virtually doing the English channel, as I write this, I’m two miles in and seen three migrant dinghy’s already. I guess my main worry is falling, it’s been a long time since I walked up the 199 steps but remember some are quite uneven. For safety I’ll be doing it barefoot and only using one stick with the handrail, I’m sure there’ll be the odd nob ed coming down on the same side who refuses to let go and I’ll have to balance my way round them and as my friend will be filming, he’ll be completely useless at stopping me from falling. Not that he’ll be preoccupied, but because he knows the comic value of watching me bounce down the steps on my arse will be a far better video than reaching the top unscathed.