Honestly… The last couple of weeks particularly but I would stretch as far as few months (- the temp), have felt like I’ve accidentally been selected for some new reality TV show called “Survive If You Can.” Temperature? Approximately 100 billion degrees. Sleep? Cancelled. PoTS? Thriving. Shoulder pain? Operating on a level previously only achieved by medieval torture devices. I genuinely think these have been the worst three weeks I’ve had in a long time. You know it’s bad w

There are certain moments in life that stay with you forever. Your first kiss. Passing your driving test. Buying your first house. And then… The day your feet decide they’re auditioning for Avatar. But I’m getting ahead of myself... By the beginning of April, I’d completely hit the wall. Not a gentle little bump. A full-speed, face-first collision. After months of telling myself I was “just tired”, my body finally staged a full-scale rebellion. I was signed off work for three

So there I was… Completely convinced I was just taking a little bit longer than everyone else to recover. Because that’s what we all do, isn’t it? We compare ourselves to absolutely everyone. “Oh, Susan at work had Covid and she was fine after ten days.” “My neighbour was back at the gym after three weeks.” “My cousin ran a half marathon six weeks later.” Brilliant. Good for Susan. Well done, neighbour. Congratulations, cousin. Meanwhile I was celebrating the fact I’d managed