A bit over two years ago before the start of a marathon I had to make an impromptu visit into some bushes. Whilst doing the necessary I spotted something that was dayglow orange: a golf ball. I picked it up and wandered back to the road. As random acts go it was up there near the top of the list.
Like a happy dog with a stick I handed it to Alasdair.
‘Why do you have a golf ball?’
‘I found it in the bushes’
‘Why did you pick it up? What are we going to do with a golf ball? Silly bear!’
Well, I don’t know. It seemed a waste to leave it there’.
The ball got shoved in a pocket and I ran the marathon.
After, Alasdair asked again what he should do with the ball. It got put in a bag and came home with us. For two years it has sat on top of a small pot in our bedroom, with Alasdair periodically threatening to get rid of it.
Last week I attended the orthotic clinic for an assessment. The bones in my feet have stiffened and their mobility is reduced and the movement in my ankles has become restricted. This is affecting my bio-mechanics and I am apparently running like Quasimodo at the moment. It never occurred to me that you could get stiff feet, but when I think about, I can't expect for all those miles to not have an effect on my feet.
What has this got to do with an old golf ball you think? Well, guess what? One of the things I have been advised to do, is work my foot to help with the mobilisation and that a golf ball would be ideal for rolling my foot over: serendipity! The ball is no longer lazing around decorating the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It has now been pressed into service and currently residing in the living room where it is applied to the sole of my foot and is working those metatarsals each evening whilst I watch TV.
You see Alasdair, I said it would come in useful.