A life-defining lesson after a lot of sport and very little relief

Mar 19 2008 by Abbie Wightwick, Western Mail

SPORT is bad for you. There’s no doubt about it.

A weekend of watching the rugby and running for Sport Relief left me hobbling to the doctor with a septic foot.

Perhaps it’s a bit unfair to blame sport as I had cut my foot the weekend before. But the injury was the result of marching across London in pursuit of relatives who insist on living at opposite ends of the Tube line. I think that counts as exercise and I need a scapegoat.

The doctor diagnosed an infection, gave me antibiotics and ticked me off for not looking after it.

It’s true, my right foot was feeling a bit ropey when I headed to the Millennium Stadium in a crowd determined to tread wherever there were injured body parts last Saturday.

Not that I was aware of any pain at this point. The atmosphere was so electric and the adrenaline pumping so wildly that I think I would have ignored a broken leg.

Still, jumping up and down anaesthetised by victory and beer probably wasn’t the best medicine. I woke up the next morning to a throbbing sensation at my feet and head.

Someone cruelly tore the curtains asunder and bellowed out that it was time to get my trainers on and head for Cardiff Bay. It turned out I hadn’t died and been dispatched to Hades – although it felt like it. It was my daughter, bright as a button and waving Sport Relief sponsorship forms.

Down at the run the atmosphere was once again electric. Hundreds of people in fancy dress, some on bouncing stilts and others tied together, were all jogging about for a pre-run warm up in a whipping wind.

Jamie Baulch started the race but I couldn’t see him because I’m too short. That was a shame because I’ve twice had appointments to meet him to publicise Sport Relief. The first time I chickened out because I was ill. Ringing his PR woman I felt a bit like a school kid skiving off gym with a cold. The second time he forgot. Good on his PR for not giving any spin on that!

Anyway, it was all going ahead just fine despite all this. There’s something about running in a crowd that can almost con you into thinking you’re making less effort. You get pulled along by the momentum before you realise your lungs are splitting and you’re gasping for breath.

The kids took off like rockets, whizzing round for extra laps. This was a life-defining moment. I suddenly realised that I’ve reached a point where my children are probably better able to care for me that I am for them.

They are stronger, fitter and more enthusiastic. I must remember this next time the vacuum cleaner needs hauling up the stairs or the cat wants feeding. A five-year-old has Olympian strength and speed yet is canny enough to know how to fool everybody this is not so when a sack full of shopping needs toting. Once I was home and lying prone on the sofa I did remember to mention all this to them as I waved my bandaged foot around.