Gait and GOOD GOD.

Life is genuinely full of pleasant surprises. It's the unpleasant ones that stick with us because we are all programmed to get a buzz from outrage/indignation but the pleasant ones are easy to find.

Summer weather in March- pleasant surprise. Re-remembering that the Jubilee means an extra Bank Holiday- pleasant surprise. Fitting into size 14 trousers- pleasant surprise. Realisation that Westfield Stratford is a mere 70 minutes from my front door- PLEASANT SURPRISE!! My husband would argue that this is a dangerous hazard as opposed to pleasant surprise but I would beg to differ. Shops.......EVERYWHERE!!!!! My best mate and I embarked on a Saturday spree and, aside from the fact that for the first 20 minutes she thought she was in the other London Westfield and couldn't work out why everything looked different (after 30 years of friendship with this woman who STILL gets confused by the film 'Sliding Doors', I was unsurprised by this latest revelation), it was a wicked trip. 

The reason for bringing this up, in addition to bolstering the UK retail economy, is that I visited 'The Sweatshop' (www.sweatshop.co.uk). Since starting to move at speed on a regular basis, I have been conscious that the cheap trainers which I carelessly purchased 2 years ago are probably not enhancing my (limited) ability. I'd heard about 'gait analysis' where in certain sports stores you can get expert advice on matching your running technique with the right shoes and I'd always fancied a go. This has become even more of an interest since I discovered that my ankle bones are actually just dropping off the the side of my foot. Seriously. If I stand still, the lumpy bit on the inside of each of my ankle joints are REALLY collapsing. It looks like my leg bones are going to hit the floor. I am Mrs. Potato leg and somebody has just stick a foot on the outside edge of each tree trunk.........My husband, with his usual concern for my welfare and well-being, raised this issue as I stood by the cooker one night. With a subtle “What the f**k is wrong with your legs”, he alerted me to a potential problem.

So, when my best mate told me that 'The Sweatshop' was where she had gone for a gait analysis a few years ago, I thought I'd give it a whirl as we passed the store in Westfield. A genuinely knowledgeable lad took pity on me and sorted out my analysis. He spent AGES moulding things to my feet (note to self, shave your legs before embarking on this activity as you have to roll your trousers up. He tried not to look shocked but I think my legs have alerted him to a level of female cosmetic slumminess that, due to youth and good looks, he has not yet encountered. There was a fleeting moment where he looked like he'd just been told that there was no Santa).

Then he got me to stand on a heat pad, run on a treadmill and filmed my ankles as I ran in various shoes. Even he couldn't hide his shock at the state of my ankles. With a polite, 'Yeah, it's pretty extreme', what he was really saying was “Holy hell woman, how can you walk in this decrepit state”. Ace. The technical term is 'pronated ankles'. Laymans term is 'knackered'. Anyway, 50 minutes later, I have a pair of shoes that I hope will turn back the tide of my ankle decay and some tips on my technique, having experienced an astonishing standard of retail service- another pleasant surprise.

So I now have a new pair of shoes. After my runs and aerobics classes this week, my legs hurt in very different places from usual which I am taking as a good sign that some sort of remedial healing is taking place. Either than or my hairy legs have led a salesman to purposefully mislead me as some sort of punishment for crimes against Gillette.

I ran 5k in 39 minutes and plan to try 6 k this week. I am finding the treadmill more enjoyable than street running at the moment but I think this is because of the leg pain and because 5k routes in the dark are a bit tricky. Once the pain settles and now the nights are lighter, I hope to outdoor it more.

In terms of pleasant surprises, I have also been informed today by my 4 year old daughter that she has a 'tiny baby Jesus in her tummy and he's going to come out at Christmas in the hospital'.

Now, I wasn't present for the annunciation the first time round so I can't compare but as an entirely lapsed Catholic-flavoured Agnostic with an incredibly Catholic mother. I am a little anxious. My daughter becoming a pre-Primary School parent is one thing but additionally concerning it that I am assuming that as the Grandmother of Christ, I will be required to take part in a lot of press events.

This current de-podging has suddenly become more crucial- I can't do the front page of the Catholic Herald in size 14 Kelly Holmes jogging trousers. I am also concerned that perhaps my daughter wasn't the wisest choice for a holy vessel as last week she told her (very) Catholic grandmother that her (long deceased) great grandparents are not now angels but are instead mermaids who live in the sea.

A victory for Disney, zero points for religion.