[SA Chris]

Bummer. Hang in there.

[Hoseyb]

Nothing , so serious, but a combination of events appears to have left me with Bicep tendonitis...
 
Time to rebuild myself. Looks like I'm going to be trapsing the hills looking for the mythical boulders rather than tearing it down in Nantmor.

[Fiend]

You don't need biceps for that slate slab :razorcrimpsmiley:

[Nibile]

This is how I went out today...

image by Nibile, on Flickr

[tomtom]

This is how I went out today...

image by Nibile, on Flickr

The Kids your way'll be doing this next... trendsetter!

[fatdoc]

Not serious.. And could easy be YYFY at the same time.. Depends on glass half vs. half empty..

Finally.... Finally my eldest son (16) kicked my FICKIN arse on plastic today... Like totally. Not just stuff he's done before.

Hopefully out on the real stuff 30 years of guile and tenacious knowledge will keep me ahead of the game for a few months.. But frankly.... I don't care. Just soo happy he's got off his arse and Focused on something he has now found true satisfaction...

So it's a NNYN for me.... And a massive YYFY for him. Another addition to the brethren.

*choked*

[Gallant]

This is how I went out today...

The Kids your way'll be doing this next... trendsetter!

(Hopefully without images)
Everyone should know the brown has a better heel than the white, but the white's toe box is better...

[Jaspersharpe]

Not serious.. And could easy be YYFY at the same time.. Depends on glass half vs. half empty..

Finally.... Finally my eldest son (16) kicked my FICKIN arse on plastic today... Like totally. Not just stuff he's done before.

Hopefully out on the real stuff 30 years of guile and tenacious knowledge will keep me ahead of the game for a few months.. But frankly.... I don't care. Just soo happy he's got off his arse and Focused on something he has now found true satisfaction...

So it's a NNYN for me.... And a massive YYFY for him. Another addition to the brethren.

*choked*

That's great! And to hold him off until 16 is a decent effort on your part mate. If Raf wasn't so obsessed with cricket I fear he'd be burning me off by the time he's 10.

[fatdoc]

Yeah, it took some doing, but he's the man of the house / plastic now. I'll get my board running again... Just to honourable in defeat, I'll show him my problems.... He will do them and give him the Allen keys to what what he wants...

[SA Chris]

It has to happen eventually. I'm putting ours off climbing, getting them hooked on sugar and video games instead, the pain of defeat would be too much to bear.

[Palomides]

Hopefully out on the real stuff 30 years of guile and tenacious knowledge will keep me ahead of the game for a few months..

At our wall, me and the other Dads manage to get one over on the strong youth from time to time by ruthlessly exploiting their weaknesses. Unfortunately they're all a bit like the killer robot from the Indestrucibles - they learn your tricks and it only works once   

Just remember what Santiago said in Hemingway's "Old man and the sea"

"I may not be as strong as I think," the old man said. "But I know many tricks and I have resolution."

[SA Chris]

I think I can rely on reach for a few years yet!

[sherlock]

Just one more reason I'm glad we decided not to have kids 

[nai]

Removed, sorry.

[fatdoc]

Ah... The board... The standard set we nicknamed the 10 commandments about 3 winters ago. All this plastic pulling has left the lad a little short on finger strength... he's in bulk. Done 3 out of the ten... I've done 7 this week.. This is getting interesting. He's just asked for a programme for the beast maker though... The sands of time are running through fast..

[fatdoc]

Ah... The Works. Did the the pinkle circuit. First time trying, only had 2 hours. Knackered skin stopped play after 2 hours anyways. Did it Hap hazard in terms of order. Didn't do about 5,  failed on 3. Flashed near all the rest. That's a truck load less than the lad... He did em all in over 2 visits.... Again.. This is getting interesting! Oh... And my wrist arthritis is now killing me

[Nibile]

11 days after knee surgery, with almost complete inactivity, and I've lost 3,5 kilos...
Don't want to think about how weak I'll be when I get back to proper training.
I feel like a jelly fish.

[tomtom]

But a light jellyfish!!

[Fiend]

Dude I can give you 3.5 kg I have loads to spare....

[Nibile]

 

[fatdoc]

Ah... The board... The standard set we nicknamed the 10 commandments about 3 winters ago. All this plastic pulling has left the lad a little short on finger strength... he's in bulk. Done 3 out of the ten... I've done 7 this week.. This is getting interesting. He's just asked for a programme for the beast maker though... The sands of time are running through fast..

update... Today:
He did 9, ( we've forgotten the 10th)

I did 8.

Epoc over " I've been looking at you do these since I was 7.. Now I'm doing them"

"yep, here are the Allen keys mate, it's yours now."

[Shibby Features]

It's half one on a Monday morning and I'm running.  It's dark, raining and they turned the streetlights off in my village at mignight, but I'm running.  There's pain burning in my abdomen, pain that I can't touch, can't get away from, so I run harder - hoping to replace it with my own pain.  Pain I can control.   

Let me tell you how I got here.  I woke up one morning in early  August busting for a piss.  Just a normal Sunday morning right?  Wrong.  No matter what I did I couldn't get rid of that feeling.  I must've stood in front of the fucking bog for half the day trying to piss it out, but it wouldn't go.  And the feeling was still there when I went to the Doctors later that week.  The young doctor got me to piss on a bit of paper, and quickly pronounced:  "There's a strong possibility you're diabetic"..  I told him there was a strong possibility he was wrong.  But he wouldn't do anything further until him and his colleagues had sent various poorly labelled specimens to the local lab.  The lab either lost them, or did the wrong tests.  We continued in this way for over a month.

Meanwhile, things had got worse, what had started as feeling like I needed to piss quickly morphed into a burning pain, and then in the nastiest twist of all, the sensation of intense electric shocks shooting down my right leg (and other places too delicate to mention).  The pain is non-stop, it hollows me out, I can't talk, not even to the person I live with, the person I love.  I can't let her near me to comfort me, or even to talk it through.

The doctors are now beginning to decide that I have some kind of biblical knob ebola reserved for the very worst people in society.  One particularly stern interrogation as to my involvement with needles, promiscuous gay sex and whores conspires with my lack of sleep (about 2 hours a night?) and sees me leaving the GP's genuinely wondering if I've actually done this stuff and am just fooling myself.  At some point doctors started putting fingers and other implements up my arse and other less accommodating oraphises.  I barely care.

God knows how, but even when I've hardly slept in weeks and am in pain, I still have the desire and some ability to climb.  There's something about the immediacy of the situation when I'm climbing that makes my body block the pain out.  I suppose it makes me realise that it's the stripped back, animal part of me that's at the controls when I'm pulling on rock.  These moments are my islands, where I'm alive again.

After two months of this, I'm lying in bed with the shooting pains running through me and I can hear my partner moving around downstairs.  It dawns on me that we're leading separate lives, and at the same moment a crackling jolt of pain shoots up my leg. I break.  I burst into tears for the first time in decades, huge gulping sobs and whimpering moans.  There are footsteps on the stairs and a hand on my back, careful to stay her distance.  Through the tears and bubbles of snot, I demand to be taken climbing.  I sit in the passenger seat, crying while my girlfriend drives me to the local sport crag.  I clip bolts for a couple of hours and regain my composure.

I go private.  They knock me out and push a camera on a stick up my japs eye.  I have Prostatitis.  They squeeze the prostate out and hose it down.  The doctor tells me to take time off work (yep, I was still going into work - Moron) and to take pills - lots of pills, Some with funny side effects.

Things get a bit better.  I start to become more human.  Slowly I get my personality back, and my relationship with it.  I start to socialise again, and in a few weeks go back to work.  I'm still in some pain, but it's so much better, and I can sleep!  The joy!

I go back to work, and start to feel competent again.  Realise how fucking useless and pathetic I'd been those last few months.  Curse myself for not sacking it off sooner.

Slowly, so slowly I start to feel optimistic.  I'm getting over this, getting back to normal.  Get in!

Then, in bed, one Sunday night in November I feel a crackle and a twinge of pain - and the burning, white hot need to take a piss.  My missis lies asleep next to me and I lie there rigid while I slide back two months in two hours.  I can't cope with the pain again, can't believe what's happening.  I leave the sleeping form of my partner under the covers in the warm bedroom, put on my running stuff and step out of the door into the dark.

It's half one on a Monday morning and I'm out running.

NNFN

[mrjonathanr]

Ouch

If the treatment worked on bout one, why not focus on its efficacy so far and try to see it as a hiatus in process which hasn't quite finished yet?

In other words, sounds like you'll win, you just have to suffer some more first...

Good luck

[fatdoc]

It's half one on a Monday morning and I'm running.  It's dark, raining and they turned the streetlights off in my village at mignight, but I'm running.  There's pain burning in my abdomen, pain that I can't touch, can't get away from, so I run harder - hoping to replace it with my own pain.  Pain I can control.   

Let me tell you how I got here.  I woke up one morning in early  August busting for a piss.  Just a normal Sunday morning right?  Wrong.  No matter what I did I couldn't get rid of that feeling.  I must've stood in front of the fucking bog for half the day trying to piss it out, but it wouldn't go.  And the feeling was still there when I went to the Doctors later that week.  The young doctor got me to piss on a bit of paper, and quickly pronounced:  "There's a strong possibility you're diabetic"..  I told him there was a strong possibility he was wrong.  But he wouldn't do anything further until him and his colleagues had sent various poorly labelled specimens to the local lab.  The lab either lost them, or did the wrong tests.  We continued in this way for over a month.

Meanwhile, things had got worse, what had started as feeling like I needed to piss quickly morphed into a burning pain, and then in the nastiest twist of all, the sensation of intense electric shocks shooting down my right leg (and other places too delicate to mention).  The pain is non-stop, it hollows me out, I can't talk, not even to the person I live with, the person I love.  I can't let her near me to comfort me, or even to talk it through.

The doctors are now beginning to decide that I have some kind of biblical knob ebola reserved for the very worst people in society.  One particularly stern interrogation as to my involvement with needles, promiscuous gay sex and whores conspires with my lack of sleep (about 2 hours a night?) and sees me leaving the GP's genuinely wondering if I've actually done this stuff and am just fooling myself.  At some point doctors started putting fingers and other implements up my arse and other less accommodating oraphises.  I barely care.

God knows how, but even when I've hardly slept in weeks and am in pain, I still have the desire and some ability to climb.  There's something about the immediacy of the situation when I'm climbing that makes my body block the pain out.  I suppose it makes me realise that it's the stripped back, animal part of me that's at the controls when I'm pulling on rock.  These moments are my islands, where I'm alive again.

After two months of this, I'm lying in bed with the shooting pains running through me and I can hear my partner moving around downstairs.  It dawns on me that we're leading separate lives, and at the same moment a crackling jolt of pain shoots up my leg. I break.  I burst into tears for the first time in decades, huge gulping sobs and whimpering moans.  There are footsteps on the stairs and a hand on my back, careful to stay her distance.  Through the tears and bubbles of snot, I demand to be taken climbing.  I sit in the passenger seat, crying while my girlfriend drives me to the local sport crag.  I clip bolts for a couple of hours and regain my composure.

I go private.  They knock me out and push a camera on a stick up my japs eye.  I have Prostatitis.  They squeeze the prostate out and hose it down.  The doctor tells me to take time off work (yep, I was still going into work - Moron) and to take pills - lots of pills, Some with funny side effects.

Things get a bit better.  I start to become more human.  Slowly I get my personality back, and my relationship with it.  I start to socialise again, and in a few weeks go back to work.  I'm still in some pain, but it's so much better, and I can sleep!  The joy!

I go back to work, and start to feel competent again.  Realise how fucking useless and pathetic I'd been those last few months.  Curse myself for not sacking it off sooner.

Slowly, so slowly I start to feel optimistic.  I'm getting over this, getting back to normal.  Get in!

Then, in bed, one Sunday night in November I feel a crackle and a twinge of pain - and the burning, white hot need to take a piss.  My missis lies asleep next to me and I lie there rigid while I slide back two months in two hours.  I can't cope with the pain again, can't believe what's happening.  I leave the sleeping form of my partner under the covers in the warm bedroom, put on my running stuff and step out of the door into the dark.

It's half one on a Monday morning and I'm out running.

NNFN

Fuck me that's the most heart rendering piece written on here since the " how we nearly all died when we were young - whatever it was called- thread" a couple of years ago.

Time to move on, you obviously have the desire... Bang on the door of health care... Again and again... I'm not knowledgeable in terms of this condition... But I'm totally convinced you are not one to give up. Don't stop, don't stop... Until u are sorted. Good luck mate.

[sherlock]

Holy fuck,that is a grim tale.Stick in mate.Sorry I can't offer any meaningful advice but all the best anyway.