WEEK 42: Achilles Knee

 

Did I tell you that on top of twice-weekly karate sessions I’ve joined a gym? That’s right, a gym. Personally I think that a double dose of karate is more than enough for me and my ailing knee but my two kids in south London were not getting sufficient exercise and I know from karate the positive effects that exercise can have on the brain. So in a way, it was a no-brainer. I sorted three memberships and between us we’ve had a gentle introduction to Nuffield’s bikes, rowing machines and weights apparatus – five minutes on each for now.

With the extra exertion, by the time I get back from the gym, I hit the settee within seconds and sleep soundly for 20 minutes – although since having Covid at the beginning of January that’s all I want to do: sleep.

Before karate konditioning early in the week, I’d rather have gone to bed than set out in the subzero temperatures to power through upwards of 50 press-ups and pound the punchbag in the senseis’ home gym. I’d also burnt my tongue at the weekend – and I mean badly! Greed was the usual culprit, coupled with deep-fat frying chicken. Obviously by the time I was back at home, I was on cloud nine.

I now have a schedule in the daytime before karate in the church hall later in the week: computer off at 5.30pm; iron my gi; an hour’s run through four katas as a refresher; stride off into the night. It gives me a pep from the Covid tiredness that I just can’t shake.

This week Sensei Harris was our sole instructor – and he’s a bit of an Army sergeant-major. When Monte asked where Sensei Amrit was, Sensei Harris said she had other matters to attend to. Monte answered, “Oh good,” but SH replied, “Did you say, ‘Oh good’ or ‘Oh God’?” I’m still a bit bronchial after January diseases and lost my breath laughing.

Kicks with swivels tested my knee – my Achilles heel… an Achilles knee. A week and a half to go now till my hospital appointment although worryingly I read that physiotherapists are going on strike. One high kick brought a jab of pain not in the knee but in the hinterland of middle-age fat where my belt sits and I let out of an “Aggghhhhh!” I thought I might have to travel home in a spasm chariot (slightly out-of-tune 1970s-derived joke about turquoise Invacars there – but I think I can get away with it).

I’m improving on drills but I was glad to get to the kata practice; I love katas. We went through nidan and then more thoroughly with the work-in-progress sandan (Middlesex Shotokan Karate has a clip of yours truly strutting his sandan stuff on Facebook – see main image). There are nuances that continually present themselves with sandan. It’s a double block on the progression up the dojo, not an outward block. When tested on sandan individually I had a couple of brain freezes despite the preparation at home earlier. But it’s all fitting together.

Monte with his titanium limbs did a half-decent job of trying to break my elbow and hand. He’ll be a black belt one day. I’ve gone from thinking that I can’t possibly progress from yellow to believing that a green belt should be achievable. I inadvertently kicked Monte too hard in the stomach but Sensei Harris told him he had to be ready for a strike and accept it. I should do likewise.

Speaking of strikes, I noticed that my right knee joint has committed to industrial action in sympathy with the left and that my elbows are particularly prone to lightning pain when clanged. Osteoarthritis – that’s what I think is the problem. Even so, I felt totally invigorated on the walk home and went to bed too late because I was practising my moves in the kitchen in a sweat-sodden gi. Heck, I love karate.