Well, it’s been a weird few months. I think, wherever you are in the world, we can all agree on that. Dubai seems to have gone from lovely balmy March mornings to blazing June heat in the blink of an eye, and for us in the desert, the school year is very nearly done.
For me, as for most of the world’s population, any plans for 2020 have gone out of the window, including Ironman Wales in September. After months of uncertainty, the Ironman brand have seen sense and postponed the event to September 2021, effectively cancelling this year. For most of us this has come as a huge relief, especially as most athletes registered have not been able to swim since March. It came as a particular relief to me for a few other reasons too.
Unlike the UK ‘lockdown’, the regulations put in place here in the UAE were extremely strict. Now that we are beginning to emerge on the other side I’m glad of this, but at the time it was tough. For a four week period between mid-March and mid-April, no one here could leave the house without an electronic permit. These were only issued to each person once every three days, and only for essential trips such as groceries or medicine. Outdoor exercise was categorically not allowed. This meant that in addition to losing my swim fitness, my run fitness dropped off a cliff too.
I used the turbo almost every day, but even that became soul crushingly boring. Once restrictions were lifted at the end of April, I was basically incapable of running. I decided to challenge myself to run 5km every day for thirty days, just to regain some semblance of fitness. At the time we had to run in a mask, and by May in the UAE, temperatures really are beginning to hit the mid-thirties. Gross. However, I managed 26 days before I fell off the 5km wagon, just in time for restrictions to lift further and allow us to travel to the cycling track. The freedom of leaving the compound was HUGE.
We now have gyms, beaches and the cycling track open here, and rumour has it that pools will be next. I, however, will not be swimming. In a bout of total idiocy, I managed to come spectacularly off my bike last Friday morning. I had met up with some friends for an easy spin around the Al Qudra loop, was just about to set off when I casually went to drop my banana skin in the bin.
Somehow, I ended up over the handlebars with my bike on top of me, in front of at least thirty people. More embarrassed than in pain, I shook myself down and off we went. My elbow felt a bit wonky, but I told myself it was just a bump and not to be such a wimp. I managed this for 40km, by which point I was unable to put any weight at all on my left arm. I limped back to the car, supporting all my weight on my right arm. By the time I got home (thank goodness I drive an automatic!), the pain was such that we dashed straight to the hospital, me yelling at my poor husband every time he hit a speedbump at anything over 0.2mph.
The verdict is a fractured elbow that will apparently just heal on its own, as long as it stays in a sling. I’ve been told not to do any sport for a fortnight, until there is no pain in my elbow. Regardless, I’ll definitely be heading to the gym this week, if only to hit the stepper and the leg machines. My running fitness will have to wait.