My flat-footedness has seen me in orthotics for the best part of the last three years. And today, for the first time, I left my right orthotic 60 miles from my right foot. Which means I have to get through a couple of days of physio exercises without it, as well as generally walking around, and I’m feeling ever so slightly fragile – like I could lose stability and pronate the hell out of my foot at any moment. Thankfully, my lovely mother-in-law is rescuing it from the Wellington boot in which it is currently ensconced and dispatching it back to me by the Royallast of Mail-services on offer in these British Isles.
Here’s hoping I make it to Wednesday.
For the curious, the rolling continues to vary in its painfulness. It is distinctly diminished from when this whole debacle began, but still quite bloody painful.
For the curious about James, I’m hoping he blogs his London tri experience soon!