Iliotibial Band Friction Syndrome

Another day, another injury. The iliotibial band is the large, tough tendon that runs from the hip, down the outer back of the leg to the fibia. At the knee it passes the bony protrusion on the outside of the knee called the lateral femoral epicondyle. Depending on technique, continuous sessions of prolonged running/cycling can cause the iliotibial band to rub against the femoral epicondyle, resulting in inflammation of the tendon and causing pain. This condition is called Iliotibial Band Friction Syndrome.

An exaggerated ‘toe in’ riding style, I am certain, has contributed to my ITBFS. ‘Toe in’ simply meaning that when my feet are in the pedals, my toes are pointing to far in towards my front wheel and my heels are to far out. In even simpler terms, albeit exaggerated, five to five on the clock face. For me, five past seven is a better riding position, but everybody is different, I would suggest taking note of your natural gait, see how your foot falls naturally when you walk and adopt that to your pedal position.

Now, with any tendon related issue, rest and lots of it is the best remedy; but after two years of sport restricting patella tendonitis rest is out of the question. After highlighting the problem and changing technique, I’m banking on this sorting it out. check out the picstures to find ways to stretch the iliotibial band.

Cycling

Alright, far to long since I’ve posted anything on here, and now, admittedly it is encouraged by an opportunity to use my new laptop; but as well as retail therapy, physical therapy has been going on in the form of some serious training and a lot of cycling. All of which is done with the greatest of care and consideration for my clapped out knees (see previous post). And my knees, in actual fact have not felt as good as they do now for well over two years; I’ve resigned myself to not playing tennis or doing any running probably ever again, which is a shame, but on the flip side it means I can continue hiking without having to suffer in to much pain – hopefully.

In the gym I’ve been swimming, rowing and cycling. The swimming I enjoy immensely; the rowing, I think, is the hardest thing in the gym, but the controlled knee bend and extension as opposed to the jerking and jarring of tennis or a run is what I think is helping the recovery, building up the upper leg muscles to support the tendon. I hope it continues.

The purpose of this post is to highlight a brand new obsession. Cycling. full on lycra clad, backside punishing, leg shaving cycling; all except the leg shaving: for the time being anyway. So far, I’ve resisted shelling out a large fortune on a brand new bike and have stuck to my trusty Peugeot. Temptation looms. If it wasn’t for the wedding I’d have signed on the dotted line days ago! Glossy mags and buddies bikes are like sporting Razzle.

Forty miles is the furthest I’ve gone so far but a planned race in April demands sixty tough, undulating miles on the fells of the Lakes and I can’t wait. Watch this space. Cycling isn’t for everyone, to be honest I didn’t get it before. It’s expensive as hell and it hurts, which every sport should. If it doesn’t, your not doing it properly.

The New Forest

Back in October, we took a few days out in the New Forest to check out the local wildlife and kick back the cobwebs. Situated in the Hampshire countryside just north of the south coast of England, the New Forest is host to England’s most concentrated population of wild deer. Fallow, sika and red deer all share the forest with an abundance of other spectacular wildlife.  The landscape really is unique, in the way that it isn’t all dense forest and woodland but large open moorland and grassland; so the famous forest ponies have plenty of grazing to chew on.

The trip’s accomadation came courtesy of our caravan so the nights were short due to there being no electric hook up and the battery ran more or less flat on the second day, preventing any electric lighting. The mornings were bitterly cold, dropping below freezing on more than one occasion. This meant no lie-in’s! Up and about straight away was the only way to keep warm. I got up and got a fire going most days before the sun came up. It was warmer eating breakfast outside by the fire than it was in the van, and far more serene and picturesque with the birds starting their day and coming to life all around us. There was a pair of buzzards that hung out in the next field and would call as they flew around above our heads. The mornings were a highlight for me, making the fire and watching the wildlife at it’s most active part of the day – great!
After thawing out by the morning fire we ventured off for our morning walk, mainly to try and find some deer, and we found them, surprisingly enough! The woodlands are literally full of them but they are incredibly hard to spot. Only if they move can you see them and if they haven’t spotted you first. If your downwind of them, they are on to you well before your anywhere near and they slip away, just out of sight. The best sighting we had was of a stag when we were hunting down a geocache. Unfortunately it was injured, which was probably why we got close and had a good view. It was clear it was hiding from us, preferring not to move unless it had to, and when we got to close it limped off back into the woods.

Geocaching was our favourite pastime during the break.  It’s really grown in popularity over the last ten years or so with the increase in affordable handheld GPS (global positioning satellite) devices and mobile phone apps.  Caches are hidden and their co-ordinates are posted on the internet, then cachers punch in the co-ordinates on their devices and go out into the countryside and track them down, combining a nice country walk with a little added adventure.  There are varying degrees of caches, from the simplest to the most difficult.  Some being as easy as pulling over on the side of the road and finding the cache to others being hidden at the top of a mountain. A log book to record the date and name of the successful finder and small trinkets are left in the cache; if you take something make sure to put something else back in, like a trade.

All in all, a very successful trip.  Lot’s of wildlife and great scenery. The birdlife really is abundant, every time you look up you can see something different and interesting; from jays to buzzards, tits and finches, we even saw a goldcrest, a first for us both.  I’ll leave you with some of the best shots.

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The Glass Rainbow, James Lee Burke

My first foray into the world of JLB;  not an author I was at all familiar with.  Recommended by Simon Mayo’s book club on Radio2, a source I find trustworthy and reliable.  It seems I lag behind the crowd once again, as the main protaginist in the book, Dave Robicheux, has appeared in no less the eighteen of JLB’s stories, two of which have been adapted into movies starring Alec Baldwin. Oh well, must have been asleep that day!

Set in the deep south of America, Lousiana, Robicheux tracks the culprit of a series of murders of disadvantaged girls, one of which doesn’t seem to keep within the modas operandi.  Robicheux becomes involved with the case in personal capacity when his daughter becomes involved with one of the prime suspect’s. And prime suspect is just the phrase because there are shades of Lynda La Plante throughout the story and that is not a critcism. If you are going to read the book DO NOT read on because I’m about to divulge a major thread. Repeat, here comes the spoiler. As with La Plante novels, and episodes of Columbo, the villain has been identified, and the story revolves around the disection of the investigation, as well as Robicheux’s personal demons.

Robicheux’s friend and investigative partner, Clete Purcell, is an intriguing character, wonder if we’ll get a novel based on him soon. Rhat i would like to read.

Overall, a satisfying read. Peters out in the middle after a good start but builds to a dramatic end, enjoyed..

Little Owls’

Here are just few pictures of a little owl nest we found in the hole of a tree, surprisingly close to the road.  I had to climb the tree to get the shots but was as quick as I could so as not to cause to much distress.

In the next shots, there are two owls; you can just about make out the tail of another hiding behind the one in view.

And finally

Jumper’s Knee or Tendonitis

For almost two years now, I’ve suffered with a debilitating injury called ‘jumpers knee’, or tendonitis. I say debilitating, which of course, is a much to dramatic word to use to describe tendonitis as it hasn’t rendered me immobile or left me unable to continue with a normal lifestyle, but it’s all relative and whilst it may not be life threatening or require hospitalisation, it induces a depression, along with the inabilty to participate in the activities an active person takes for granted. Inhibiting is probably more accurate and also less dramatic.

It started on a long hike, descending a steep path down the side of the Lakeland peak, Skiddaw. I had to stop and rest frequently as the pain was to much. I should point out that walking uphill wasn’t and still isn’t a problem. It’s downhill that hurts; it feels like red hot razor blades have been inserted just below the kneecap, at the top of the shin bone.

It was at the end of that hike that I should have rested for a couple of weeks and let the pain and the swelling recover but commitments with my tennis club prevented any such recovery. The pain worsened by the day and any kind of knee movement, whether sporting or otherwise became unbearable; static positions, especially in bed at night are also painful.

So it was, with the increasing pain and swelling I consulted a physiotherapist. Session’s included ultrasound, manipulation and massage, none of which made any difference whatsoever! Between session’s, the physio gave me several excercises to do to strengthen the quad muscle, the weakness of which being the cause of the tendonitis, (although I think it’s simply over exhertion) however, the pain in the tendon made these excersises excrutiating and impossible to carry out. I was at a loss so made an appointment with my GP, who, after a painful prod diagnosed it as ‘jumpers knee’ or tendonitis. I told him what I did in my spare time: hiking, tennis, running etc, and he basically laughed and said ‘what do you expect?’ Not the most constructive of critics from someone who promotes a healthy, active lifestyle. Six to eight weeks rest was what he recommended. Not the easiest thing to do with a full time job but I tried none the less. Now, I have to admit I probably haven’t rested to the extent that I should have but, like I said it’s not as simple as that. When it’s painful walking down the stairs or simply standing up, how do you define rest? Locking myself up for eight weeks and sleeping in the living room?

The weeks and the months past by and after another appointment with my GP I was referred for physio on the NHS, not to my liking as I’d tried this already and just wanted to see a specialist. I was told I couldn’t do this until I had exhausted every other available method of treatment which included five sessions of physio and three sessions of accupuncture. I acquiesced reluctantly, simply to make it to the door of the specialist.

An appointment with the elusive specialist finally loomed; x-rays were taken and I waited for my consultation. As I made my way inside I expected to be told I could have corrective surgery and be right as rain in six months or so. Not to be of course. No procedure for the treatment of tendonitis has come from medical science as yet, the best I could hope for, would be that it sorts itself out on it’s own. It could take two or three years if at all! Injections of steroids could temporarily ease the pain and return to normal activities but more damage to the tendons could occur. And that’s where I am at the moment.

If anyone is reading this having suffered from and overcome tendonitis, please let me know how you did it. If you are reading this as you are going through the same I would love to hear from you.

The Lakes in August

The final bank holiday of the year.  The end of the summer and the coming of the autumn.  A trip to the Lakes to wallow in the last days of sun baked Cumbrian countryside which, of course, as anyone knows, is guaranteed on any trip to the Lakes; a place which contributes seventy five per cent to the countries water supply.

We left booking our destination until the last minute as usual so availability was scarce.  After lots of phone calls we finally found a site that would accomodate the caravan called Crook Farm and the lady on the other end of the phone, Mrs Armistead, was both friendly and helpful.  She warned us about the location of the farm and the difficulty we might have in navigating the best route in as the roads that lead to the farm are very narrow and difficult to pass, especially if towing a caravan.  She gave us directions and told us to call her when we reached a certain point and she would come and meet us and guide us in. Very reassuring.  Driving through unfamiliar roads in small villages, unsure of your destination and no places to turn around are the stuff of nightmares for any caravan owner!

We set off at teatime on the Saturday evening, forewarning Mrs Armistead that we may be arriving quite late.  We drove north up the M6, leaving at junction 36 and heading west on the A590.  After a faultless journey we arrived at the agreed meeting point with Mrs Armistead.  We dialled the number and waited for her to answer.  It rang out so we tried again, eager to get on with the journey as we’d made good time and wanted to get pitched before it went to dark and the rainclouds over head looked ready for starting, but not for stopping.  Frustrated, we tried again.  Surely she would be anticipating our call and be ready to come and meet us, as agreed. We dialled once again, listening for an answer but the phone rang out as the first drops of rain spattered the windscreen.  I was pissed off to say the least.  What now?  We had a route with Google Maps but no way of knowing if it was wide enough for the van to pass through so I just had to trust that it was.  Relunctantly and with the headlights on full beam and the windscreen wipers on full tilt I pulled away, following the Google route on Kerry’s iPhone.

Now, unlike a satnav, Google Maps doesn’t come with a friendly voice saying, ‘in fifty metres, turn left.’  The first inkling you get of a turning is when you’ve gone ten metres past it!  So we saw the first turn but missed it,  meaning we had to find a way back to the start point.  This in itself wasn’t at all easy.  The tight meandering lanes were difficult to squeeze through and with low visibilty I was dreading someone coming the other way.  So we found our way back to our route and swung the first turn passed a pub, hard right and uphill, the wheels spinning a little on the wet road.  Up we went, confident we were on the right road to our destination, passing gateways and farms hoping to see a sign saying ‘Crook Farm’.  We continued on, the road narrowing further and the gradient becoming steeper.  We turned a sharp bend to the left and I pressed down hard in second gear to get a good run up a steep section when I saw the glow of headlights coming towards me.  Bloody fantastic, just what we need.  A VW Transporter stopped ten metres in front of us and we both remained stationary for a few seconds until I said, ‘surely he doesn’t expect me to reverse?’  I started forward trying to push him into reversing but i coudn’t get traction on the wet road.  My tyres spun fast and a large cloud of smoke emerged from the front wheels and the familiar smell of burning rubber.  My adversary emerged from his VW.

‘Are you stuck, mate?’ He said, covering his head from the rain.

‘No, mate. But I can’t reverse. Can you not go back until we find a place wide enough to pass?’ I asked.

‘Me? No, it’s all uphill behind me I can’t reverse.’

I couldn’t believe it.  I thought this guy has got to kidding, what’s wrong with him? He’s in a van, I’m towing a van.  And then, just when it couldn’t get any worse, he comes out with, ‘your not going to that Crook Farm are you?  What a hell hole..’

I looked at Kerry, she looked at me. ‘Why?’ I said, ‘is it bad?’

‘It’s a dump,’ he said, ‘the toilets are in a shed and the showers stink, it’s not a proper camp site.’

Just perfect, when we do finally get there, I pictured an old woman siting on a rocking chair on a wooden verander cradling a shotgun, Texas Chainsaw style.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll back up as far as I can, then I’ll pull forward as close to the side as I can and you’ll just have to try and pass me at the widest point. If you get stuck in the mud we’ll push you out. Let’s get on with.’

I heard him chunnering as he got in his van, ‘bloody hell hole.’

I gingerley reversed down the hill, keeping as straight as I could and then pulled in as close to the side of the road as I could get.  He got passed easily, but left us both wet, annoyed and anxious for what was in store for us at the hell hole of the world, Crook Farm.

We continued up the hill and levelled out to see a hand painted sign directing us to Crook Farm.  We entered through some narrow gate posts.  We could barely make out some buildings and the outline of a few caravans through the gloom.  It didn’t look great, but then we were wet, tired and the comments of the van driver had primed us for disappointment.  We stood around for a few minutes wondering what to do when a figure emerged out of the darkness.  We explained we had booking and the guy showed us where we could pitch for the night, so we did just that, deciding to explore the site in the morning.

After a noisy night of big, heavy raindrops, the morning brought beautiful sunshine, so after some much needed coffee, we ventured out to see what the site was like.  Hidden in woodland, the site was much bigger than we had expected with several areas to pitch, some of which were on high ground up in the tree’s.   It really was a lovely site;  rabbits running around, birdsong in the trees and stunning views down into the valley.  We did however come across the reason for the van driver’s angst the night before:  the toilets and showers, which weren’t bad but if you had been staying in a tent, they must not have been very appealing.  We had the luxury of staying in a nice warm van so it was not a problem for us but after a rainy night in a tent, the prospect of showering in anything less than a two star bathroom, which the facilities certainly were not, for some must have been difficult.

We returned to our van to be greeted by the lovely and charming Mrs Armistead who didn’t resemble anything like a character from a horror film, quite the opposite.  She apologised for not answering the phone, which in the light of the morning sun didn’t seem that much of a big deal anymore.  The next two days brought more sunshine and on a visit to the local nature reserve we were lucky enough to see, amongst other things, a small herd of deer.

Crook farm will be visited again I’m sure..

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Walking the Amazon, Ed Stafford

In 2010, Ed Stafford, a british explorer, completed a record breaking trek of the full length of the Amazon river.  Parts of his journey took him through areas of the Amazon rainforest that had never been walked before.  An amazing achievement which puts him up there with some of the best and the bravest explorers in history.

If hiking and the outdoors is your thing, you will love this book.  The accounts if the trek itself are the best.  The personal battles Ed faced with his state of mind are fascinating and prove what is possible for a person to achieve.  I found it an inspiring read, not just for future hiking, but everything, every aspect of difficulty in life can be overcome with a positive attitude.  I know it’s a cliche but one of the best quotes that I took from the book was Ed’s:  ‘You choose what state of mind to take to a situation.’  Meaning that whatever the task, large or small, somewhere along your decision making process, you choose how to approach it. Sometimes this happens subconciously, and if it’s something that is scares you, for example, you approach it negatively.  The point is you decide how you tackle it; from the smallest, laborious, arduous task to the biggest, scariest and most challenging.

The admistration and organisation the trek required is all in here, and sometimes that takes away from the drama of the jungle but interesting none the less.  Ed’s bitterness towards his initial partner, Luke, is amusing and you can sense Ed’s satisfaction as he sticks the knife in.  The relationship between Ed and Cho develops throughout the book as they both get a sense of their achievement.

Inspiring, motivating stuff, great book.

One Day, David Nicholls

This has to be one of the most popular books of the last couple of years, it’s spread across Amazon and Waterstones like the paper of a feature wall, and, whilst not in my usual genre, I felt it had to be read, if only to keep up with the in crowd.

I was bowled over, its popularity is understandable and well deserved. I can’t think of a book whose characters I’ve related to more, have laughed along with or which has moved me so profoundly and emotionally; yes, I cried like a whimpering child!

I won’t bore you with the thread, or the in’s n’ out’s of the story on here, as if you are reading this, you’re probably familiar with the jist already and if not, get the blurb above. What I’d like to talk about are the wonderful characters of Em and Dex, Dex and Em; the warm feelings of bubblegum flavoured happiness they’re conversations induce and the eager anticipation of their romance.

Emma and Dexter are so contemprary and easy to relate to. I really became fond of Emma who encapsulates compassion and feminine charm; On the side of the just and true, the subjugated, modest, moral champion who, unlike Dexter, tries a little to hard romantically and fails to express her desires to the one who needs to hear them most, herself: ‘The city had defeated her. Like some overcrowded party, no-one had noticed her arrival, and no-one would notice if she left.’ An affectionately ‘normal’ person. I felt pangs of jealously half way through because of Mr Goddalming, the headteacher!

Would the relationship have gone anywhere at all if it started at the beginning? If, for example, Dexter’s letter written in India had reached it’s destination and Emma had come running. Would it all have been to easy for Dexter’s fickle fantasies?

Dexter, the complete opposite of Emma. Throughout the book you just want to grab him and shake him to make him see what is right for him! He’s clearly a burk, which is forgivable for his younger years. Young man syndrome is something we’ve all suffered from at some point in our past. The chapter in which he visits his mother, and his father chastises him and his mother rather poigniantly points out the error of his ways is touching. I can remember in my youth being plagued with guilt by how much concern my behaviour was giving my parents. Only with age and maturity do you become truly aware of how much worry an experimantal youth can cause to loving parents.

After finishing the book, I can tell you, it hits you hard. There is a passage towards the end which comes from Emma’s meandering thoughts: ‘It would be innappropriate, undignified, at thirty-eight, to conduct friendships or love affairs with ardour and intensity of a twenty two year old. Ridiculous, at thirty-eight, to expect a song or book or film to change your life. There would be no more of those nerve janggling highs or lows.’ This book may not change my life. But it certainly puts things into perspective. Makes you realise what is truly important and what really matters. So much we take for granted when no-one knows what could be around the corner. If you are in a relationship or there is someone you love, after this book, you will love them a whole lot more.

Tawny Talk

Whilst trudging slowly over wet sand on Cornwall’s coastal plains, the evenings were taken up with some lively conversation with the local tawny owl population.  As dusk approached, armed with a pair of portable speakers and an ipod containing some downloaded tawny hoots, we ventured deep into an alluring little deciduous wood close by, comprising of  old oak trees, as well as beech, birch, hazel and alder.

I’ve had plenty of success with this neat little trick, it works a treat.  If you are within audible range of a tawny owl’s territory, the owls cannot help but be inquisitive and will perch on a nearby tree to discover the source of the foreign invader.  Simply download a selection of hoots from the internet (there are plenty available), hook up some adequately loud speakers, sit under a favourite tree, sound the call and wait for a reply.  The owl will hoot several times before it locates your exact position so keep your eyes peeled, these birds fly silently and will only disclose their position if you see them move.  And, once they have landed, keep your eye on them because they blend in with the tree trunks excellently; if it’s relatively dense woodland they are tough to spot.  For best results, April and mid to late August are an active time for tawny’s as they breed.

Having done this a few times it becomes relatively easy to differentiate between the male’s and female’s, with different results.  What I have found to date is that if I let off a male hoot I may get a reply from both the male and female; but once the male has discovered the source of the hoot is neither a potential mate or a potential threat he does not stick around for photo’s. He will be off as soon as he’s checked out your position and realises there’s nothing to see.  The female however will fly around and perch in nearby trees, defending her territory is paramount; if she feels there may be another owl in the vicinity she will not leave until she is sure her territory is under no threat, resulting in plenty of photo opportunities!

However, don’t milk it to much, I can tell you from experience that I’ve left the woods on occasions with more than a small pang of guilt. Walking away leaving an owl hooting incessantly and flying from tree to tree apparently feeling threatened isn’t the best way to end an exhilarating wildlife experience, so sound the hoots conservatively.

Having deployed this trick in woods all over the country it becomes clear how abundant the tawny is in the British mainland. Having previously read books and reports on owls, all of which state tawny’s are the most common species of owl in the country, I found this hard to believe when the species we usually see is the Barn Owl, quartering over a meadow or a grass verge, but the tawny’s are out there alright and this trick will prevent the need to try and spot them. Make them come to you!

Here are a few pictures from a very poor photographer, all of which taken with the help of a few hoots, enjoy.

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