By author and guest blogger Andy Reynard
I was watching my 15-year-old son play six-a-side football. He’s always been a good player but the best you could say about his teammates is that they were enthusiastic. As for the opposition, calling them inept would have been talking them up.
I was frustrated. Even at 50, I was convinced that I would still be the best player on this pitch if I were playing. I’d beat that player, I’d have slotted in that chance, I’d have outpaced him.
Only none of this applies anymore. These days I couldn’t outpace a sickly snail. Age might have taken away some of my former ability, but MS has finished the job with enthusiastic thoroughness.
Just to be clear, as a young man I was never going to trouble the professional ranks. I was captain of the school team when I was 11, but sadly it was pretty much downhill from there. That left me to tell people years later that I could have had a career in football if it wasn’t for my loss of form between the ages of 12 and 35.
But I was still a pretty good five-a-side player at a kickabout-with-mates type of level. And crucially, I absolutely loved it. In fact, I loved playing a few sports. Tennis, squash, badminton… Feeling the burn and sweating buckets was sometimes unpleasant, but I always found the fun in competing.
And afterwards! Once you were back in your normal clothes, you felt fantastic. You might ache a bit the next day but you would feel more alive, like something within you had been woken from half-sleep. You could face life with renewed strength.
I really miss all that. With MS, it’s a double-headed bludgeon. You feel drained much of the time because you have MS, and because you have MS, your exercise regime is, shall we say, not what it was. You dream of achieving the heady heights of half-sleep.
My deterioration could be measured in my abilities at the local football centre. A professional sometimes retreats within the team to the defence, where less running might be required. I retreated even further, to the goalkeeping position that required no running at all.
Soon, even this was too much. I’d have to lean against the low crossbar, like a less agile Billy Casper (from the film Kes), or sometimes simply sit in the goal area while the ball was at the other end. Eventually, that stops being fun. You give it up and consider joining the local walking football team, till you realise that even that is beyond you.
At least I reached my 40s before I had to give all of this up. It must be particularly difficult if you’re into sport and you’re diagnosed at a young age and the progression of disability is quick. Still, I can’t shake the thought that I should be enjoying the weekends of my later years at a tennis club. That was always the plan.
Instead, exercise is now more about lifting my foot repeatedly while keeping my heel on the floor, in an attempt to offset foot drop issues. Doesn’t quite compare with the thrill of firing down an ace.
Thank heavens for my electric bike. At least I can cover a good distance on that and it must be working my leg muscles quite a bit, even with the assistance. Anyone who thinks an electric bike does 100% of the work should watch me when I get off mine after covering 20 miles. New-born foals are more stable but I’m grateful that it’s some kind of workout.
It’s all very annoying, but what else can you do but take pleasure in the things you can still do and carry on?
My race isn’t run just yet.
Andy Reynard is an author and blogger who writes candidly about his relapsing remitting MS. For more on his book Balls to MS: 20 Years of Discovering Your Body Hates You and his life with MS, visit Andy's blog (external link).
