unironedman

IN WHICH WE PAY A VISIT TO OUR FRIENDLY LOCAL HOSPITAL AND MEET A MAN WHO HAS BROKEN MORE BONES THAN THERE ARE BONES, AND PONDER ON WEIGHTY MATTERS OF PHYSICS…

As I walked along the road towards my mate Jim’s house, I could see a decorator scraping flaky paint off the walls of a porch. I was about a hundred yards away, but it was obvious, even from this distance, that there was a slight delay in what my eyes were seeing and what my ears were hearing, much like a badly-dubbed film. It was mildly disconcerting. We’ve just experienced a solar eclipse (not in this part of the world, sadly), and it struck me how fascinating it must have been all those hundreds if not thousands of years ago when these phenomena went unexplained.

How to understand thunder and lightning? Surely it’s an ancient god in the sky, hitting an anvil with a mighty hammer, the hot sparks flying off the metal onto the poor unfortunates below. Many moons later, we are able to understand that thunder and lightning are essentially the same thing, and that the delay between the flash and the rumble are exactly the same science ‘trick’ I experienced on Jim’s road, albeit on a much larger scale: something happens, and we see it almost immediately, but if we are some distance away, we hear it a fraction later.

It should come as no surprise to learn that the world does not record a specific moment in history when the idea of the speed of light and sound were considered or even experimented upon. Though our good friends at Wikipedia suggest that even in times BC, light was thought to have finite speed. The first reasonably accurate measurement was in 1675, using the moons of Jupiter, but even then, it was out by -27%. But in a short space of time, in 1729, that accuracy was up to +0.4%. Or near enough to damn it in my book.

(It’s 299,792,458 m/s, by the way, which is metres per second, or about 300,000 kilometres per second. It takes about 1.3 seconds for light to reach us from the moon).

Interestingly enough (to this blogger, anyway) is that the first reasonably accurate measurement of the speed of sound was made in 1709, sandwiched in between the two dates above when scientists were grappling with the speed of light. And it was the Rev. William Derham, rector of Upminster, who did some nifty calculations with gunshots, telescopes, pendulums and triangulation to give us the first decent measurement of the speed of sound. It’s about 1 kilometre in 2.91 seconds. In old money, that’s about 767 miles per hour, and the smart cookies here know that this speed is just a vibe, and varies according to a number of factors, including temperature, density, pressure, etc.

(Fun fact: greyhounds run faster than the speed of sound. The proof? When they run away, they can’t hear you shouting at them. Case closed.)

But any open water swimmers here, or anglers, or indeed anyone with an ounce of sense, understands that sound travels better over water. It’s not simply that there are no obstructions, though this helps. It’s more to do with air temperature directly over the water surface, helping to focus the sound waves as they travel. Oddly enough, they are travelling slower than the waves above, but these higher up waves are dissipating into the air, whilst the slower ones remain somewhat ‘trapped’ in that sandwich between the cold water and warmer air and thus travel further. A similar phenomenon happens with light at these ground levels to give us mirages, though somewhat in reverse. Look, if you want the science, google it. We’re supposed to be talking about running and stuff.

And on that score…

I’m finally seeing some light at the end of the tunnel. Or, I suppose a better analogy might be the well I threw myself down. Whatever. It’s one of those situations when you realise things are beginning to improve when you begin not to notice something. If you know what I mean. In my case, passing a few hours at home or out walking when you realise your wrist hasn’t been bothering you. Or your back hasn’t been stiff.

Remarkable things, bodies.

I had a physio appointment on Friday morning. I arrived early and was sitting in the reception at about 7.45am. A few minutes later, a cheery head popped around the corner and asked me if I was Declan Kenny. Yes indeed, I replied. Okay, let’s go! I duly followed, pointing out with my own brand of good humour that it was still ten to eight, and that surely union rules precluded him starting work before the hour mark. He laughed. He said you were seen by my colleague a few weeks ago, and I replied that I had indeed, and that she was lovely. ‘Well, I’m a prick!’ was his retort. 😉

This was all in the first 30 seconds or so. It was a fun half hour. I was bent and stretched and twisted and turned. Poked and prodded. Everything was getting a quiet nod of approval. He showed me my x-rays and even went through the CAT scan, step-by-step. Which is more detail than any of the orthopaedic doctors managed, but I won’t grumble, because my care was excellent throughout, from the minute the ambulance arrived at the house to vac-pac me off to the A&E.

We quickly established a rugby playing connection, and had friends in common. He told me he had broken is scaphoid five times (3 on one wrist, 2 on the other), and his back. So, more in common than just rugby.

And to top it all off, he brought me out the side of the building and made me run up and down the pavement. It was very brief, but it felt good. I was a little giddy leaving the hospital, because he had dismissed me from their care, and though he cautioned me on a few things, he was happy to cut me loose and insisted I get back to normal as soon as was (comfortably) possible. I have some muscle-strengthening exercises to do with a theraband, but I can get back to the gym again, and get back running. I think I will still stick to my ‘May 1st, First Run’ schedule, though. It marks three months since the fall, and both of the bones I broke heal fully in three months, or thereabouts.

I am the heaviest I’ve ever been. I don’t obsess about weight, but use it as a handy guide to levels of fitness. And on that score, I can safely say I am not in great shape and have lost any of the marginal gains I was beginning to see from the gym. But the only way to view this whole farrago is through the prism of optimism. (Which, when you say it like that – prism of optimism – sounds like some cringey kitsch you could buy in a shop that sells dreamcatchers and crystals. Or perhaps some 1970s sitcom about an old age pensioner living in a retirement home who is actually an angel, and they secretly do magical things to horrible people when no one is looking. Or perhaps it’s the new Bond movie? (perhaps you should just get on with it? ed.)

Okay, apologies. Lost the run of myself there for a bit!

I’m just going to get back to it. There are many very real and very horrible things happening in the world right now. It’s not that I’m in any way isolated from them, or attempting to block them from my reality. Not at all. I just tend to keep them away from this little corner of my universe. And getting back into shape this year, and doing some running, and perhaps even taking on another piece of fun and madness is all part of that journey.

We should never lose the wonder. It is one of our gifts; the ability to ponder the imponderables. Stay curious, lovely people!