27 March 2012

Let's stick together

The Stick, a hopelessly weak trade mark unless you can get into the market and carve out a substantial niche in it very quickly before the name becomes generic (and the branding is confused I'm not even sure who makes it), looked like a great idea when I first saw it. Finally, yesterday, after hobbling from Paddington to Portland Place, taking mini-strides and walking on my forefoot because of the pain in my knee, and leaving a phone message for Sharon asking for a treatment session at her earliest convenience, I bought one.

I had to buy a new inner tube anyway, and Cycle Surgery and Runners Need, listed as a The Stick stockist, share premises in Great Portland Street. There on the floor, with a discarded air, were three The Sticks, each a different model, including the grey-handled Sprinter that I reckoned was what I needed (though a Travel model might have done equally well, perhaps even better because it would be more portable). I handed over my cash (about the same as an hour with Sharon, though without the conversation) and pushed it into my shoulder bag, one end sticking out, and I remarked to the sales assistant that I could cope with looking eccentric - what runner can't?

I resisted the temptation to start using it in the meetings which made up the rest of my afternoon, resorted to taking the bus to Paddington because my knee really was that painful, and also refrained from trying it out during the train journey, where instead I found myself engaged in a lengthy conversation with Stuart, from Cholsey, who had spent two hours travelling between his work in Oxford and home on account of train doors that refused to open and let him out on his first attempt to detrain at his home station, compounded by his being advised to take the wrong train for the second attempt: he explained to me that he was a Manchester United fan, quite unnecessarily given (a) the badge of allegiance he was wearing in the form of a tee-shirt and (b) his, and its, sheer size. He predicted a 5-0 victory over Fulham and I promised to look for the score and think of his jubilation later that evening. Well, they won, and had they failed to do so at home that would have been remarkable, but it seems that Fulham almost had a penalty in the closing minutes of the game. Still, Stewart, I'm pleased that you're pleased.

I thought The Stick would sort out my lower leg problems and bring Achilles under control, but I started with a few strokes across the inside of my knee. I assume that the problem is medial ligament or cartilage, which wouldn't be susceptible to direct massage treatment, but after a couple of short sessions with The Stick yesterday evening, and the application of ibuprofen gel before retiring, I got up this morning and descended the stairs with not a hint of knee pain. I can't believe it's that easy, and I'm taking half-an-hour of Sharon's time later  in the week anyway, but The Stick has already been life-changing in a small way. Highly recommended.

No comments: