What a foot injury has taught me about the art of slowing down

It’s easy to get caught up in the pace of modern life, to the point that only unforeseen circumstances can force us to stop. But, says Christine Manby, a compulsory break can be a blessing in disguise

You can’t help but be mindful when you have to move at a fraction of your usual speed (iStock)

Isn’t it annoying when all those aphorisms the grown-ups used to spout at you when you were a child turn out to be bang on? Like “a fool and his money are easily parted”, which is especially pertinent in the wellness realm, or “more haste less speed”, which is the lesson I learned courtesy of the joints in my right foot last weekend.

The pain came on out of nowhere. One minute I was sashaying up the Kings Road pretending I was still 22, despite the fact that I’d just bought a pair of jeans at Marks and Spencer. The next, I had aged two and a half decades and I could barely put my right foot on the floor. It was as though a horse had trodden on my instep.

I limped home and collapsed onto the sofa, thinking I just needed to stay off my foot for a bit. I must have overdone it, though I couldn’t think when. I have been planning to do El Camino but I haven’t stepped up the walking yet. That said, in 2014 Professor Brian Clark at Ohio University discovered that merely imagining muscular contractions can have a positive effect on muscle tone. It stands to reason therefore that I might have imagined myself to a long-distance walking injury. Whatever, I draped a bag of frozen peas over my forefoot and hoped it would be better in the morning.

Reading a book can feel like a waste of time when the online news feed spews out more things you ‘need to know’ with every passing minute. Relaxing is for the weak. We’ll sleep when we’re dead

Next day, I resumed my sashaying, albeit a little more gingerly than usual. Five days later, physiotherapist Vicki Holmes of Juliet Moss and Associates gently manipulated my toes, prescribed ice, ibuprofen and an X-ray, then handed me a crutch. It seemed that in my haste to declare myself better, I’d only set my recovery back. I had to take the weight off my foot.

I have to admit that upon receiving the crutch, I was quite excited. As a child, I was fascinated whenever I saw someone on two crutches swinging themselves down the street looking – to me – as though they were having the best time in the world. So I was perversely thrilled to get a go on one at last but having one crutch is not the same as having two crutches. You can’t launch yourself into the air on one crutch for a start. Plus, I was in pain, as those poor people I’d once envied must have been.

Vicki showed me how to use a crutch in the corridor outside her consulting room. Since my right foot was the bad one, the crutch went in my left hand. I should place it in front of me as I put down my injured foot. Have you ever tried walking while swinging your right arm forward with your right leg and your left arm forward with your left leg? It felt a lot like that. The song “Jake the Peg” threatened to become a most unwelcome earworm.

‘Catching up on my reading left me much happier than the usual rush, rush routine around the city’ (iStock) (iStockphoto)

Having heard the experiences of colleagues with disabilities, I wasn’t surprised to find it difficult to get around but just how difficult still astonished me. I abandoned the tube – too many stairs – for the bus. Seeing my crutch, a woman waved me to the seats reserved for those less able to stand. I felt guilty. I’d only had my crutch for half an hour. But as the bus lurched away from the stop – there’s no time to wait for passengers to sit down – I was glad I’d taken advantage of her kind offer.

I experienced much kindness on my first day as a crutch-wielder. When the bus driver sailed past the stop for St George’s hospital, two women yelled out in indignation on my behalf. From the next stop, they took it upon themselves to walk me back to the radiology department. At the hospital, an x-ray showed nothing untoward, thank goodness, but while there was no immediately obvious reason for the pain I was advised I should still take it easy and put my foot up.

And so another of the grown-ups’ favourite aphorisms, “every cloud has a silver lining”, was revealed to be true when a weekend of cancelled plans turned out to be a treat. I sat on the sofa, with my foot propped on a pillow and read for hours with no sense of guilt. I finished a novel that I’ve been taking months to get through. I also read Carl Honore’s book The Slow Fix, which begins with the author seeking a cure for his back pain in a scene that was only too familiar.

As the weekend progressed, friends came to visit bearing pink wine. Walking to the supermarket at a snail’s pace, I took time to literally smell the flowers. Unable to dash by with a “can’t-stop-I’m-in-a-hurry wave” as I usually do, I had a proper chat to a neighbour with whom I’ve only exchanged “hellos” for the past 15 years.

It’s not that I hadn’t wanted to get to know my neighbour better, it’s just that I never seemed to have time. There was always somewhere I needed to be and quickly. Being self-employed makes it hard to take a holiday – or even make small talk – without worrying that you should be doing something else. Something you can monetise. Reading a book can feel like a waste of time when the online news feed spews out more things you “need to know” with every passing minute. Relaxing is for the weak. We’ll sleep when we’re dead. If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough, right?

Why did it take being hobbled for me to have a weekend like this, one where I took proper time off? How has time spent ‘doing nothing much’ come to seem like a failure?

Carl Honore puts it perfectly: “When people moan, ‘Oh, I’m so busy, I’m run off my feet, my life is a blur, I haven’t got time for anything,’ what they mean is, ‘Look at me: I am hugely important, exciting and energetic.’” Then suddenly, a metaphorical horse stamps on your toes and you have to stop whether you like it or not.

As Dr Woo tells his patient Honore in The Slow Fix: “Impatience is the enemy of good medicine.”

I’d go further and say that impatience is the enemy of happiness. Though my foot still hurt like hell, slowing down, seeing friends at home and catching up on my reading all left me much happier than the usual rush, rush routine around the city. Perhaps it was a side effect of accidentally practising two well-known wellness strategies. Mindfulness – you can’t help but be mindful when you have to walk at a fraction of your usual pace. And gratitude. Gratitude for a miracle-working physio like Vicki and for the fact that, with luck, my foot will heal and I’ll be back to full city speed again soon.

It me left wondering, why did it take being hobbled for me to have a weekend like this, one where I took proper time off? How has time spent “doing nothing much” come to seem like a failure? It was more relaxing than a spa weekend – no braying hen parties hogging the jacuzzi – and much, much cheaper. I decided that I must schedule another weekend of going slow as soon as possible. Only this time without the crutch.