Polishing the big mirror

It's now the best part of a year since the fateful Tuesday night when I hobbled off the five-a-side pitch with a knackered back.  The efforts of no less than three physiotherapists (the two NHS ones both Australians; I don't know what it is about Levenshulme that that particular branch of antipodean medical science finds so attractive) have proved largely fruitless in restoring full mobility to my person.  Equally in vain was the series of summertime liaisons with the old Chinese acupuncture lady of Stretford Arndale, although these at least proved more culturally intriguing than the rather strained conversations about Test Match cricket that I used to engage in with the Australian spine-botherers.  During the backroom consultations in the Arndale the old Chinese lady would insist that my lumbar difficulties were caused by malfunctions in energy flow, and something else which the old Chinese lady's assistant would only translate as 'dampness in the bones'.  I used to nod along to this talk gamely, which these wily operators would take as their cue to charge me £12 for a packet of attractively -packaged but not particularly effective painkillers. 

Still, the inconclusive experience with the tiny needles and the ginseng (and the heatlamp, and occasionally something very stingy that may have been tiger balm) was not about to cause me to reject Eastern medical wisdom outright, and so when I came across an article in the Independent swearing by the beneficial effects of Tai Chi on bad backs, my curiosity was once again piqued.  A couple of weeks later a whistlestop recce of the coffeebar noticeboards of trendy Chorlton threw up just the thing I was looking for; an evening Tai Chi class running in a Church Hall situated right in the middle of my commute home.

And so now, my Tuesday nights, which I used to spend hurtling around the five-a-side pitch in an angular manner, occasionally crashing sidelong into the walls, have become rather more sedate affairs.  Up in the chilly church hall the instructor (not an old Chinese lady but a savvy thirtysomething Mancunian lass in a Bench tracksuit top, whichI initially found slightly disconcerting) puts a handful of us through our smooth but surprisingly tricky paces.  The rest of them have been coming for a while, and are a bit better at following the leader's movements- but they are patient with me, even during the balancing on one leg exercise which tends to end with me toppling over and grasping onto a radiator for dear life. 

And I am getting better- hell, last week I even managed to remember to breathe in and out correctly while combining both arms in a move the instructor rather charmingly dubs 'polishing the big mirror'.  The slowmotion Charlie Chaplinesque walk we do at the end- all pointy toes and baggy trousers- also passed off without incident.  Back at home I've been practicing my favourite moves, and am hoping to impress next week with the one where you look like you're aiming a bow and arrow, also the one where you breathe deeply in (or is it deeply out, I can never remember) while miming the casting and retrieval of a herring net.

I know what you all want to know though- what is all this mirror-polishing and herring-fishing doing for my back?  Well I am pleased to report it is doing a surprising amount, and I think we may conclude that those Chinese octogenarians who we spy from the upstairs windows of early morning buses, striking vaguely martial poses behind the bushes in municipal parks, are quite possibly on to something.  For the small consideration of a fiver weekly I am feeling for the first time in a long time- well, if not exactly fit again then at least not entirely crocked.  Fit enough to make that long-promised cameo appearance on the five a side pitch?  Well, I'm saying nothing (largely because several people who read this would gladly lynch me if I ever made serious overtures about a return to helter-skelter Tuesday night action) but let's just say I've dribbled a ball a couple of times round the kitchen when nobody has been looking and neither of my legs have fallen off as a result.  After the year I've had, I'll take that as a step in the right direction.

Comments

[Tim]

Never mind your back - how's your mirror buffing up?

[Dan]

As a regular Tuesday nighter I would obviously be delighted to see your interest in these dark arts lead to a cameo appearance by you, the Real Betis shirt and mid-90s blue overcoat – however, I think it would be more noteworthy if we saw an appearance by Cameo, the jazz / electronic funk combo of the 70s & 80s, at our weekly kick-about at the Powerleague.

From what I remember of lead singer Larry Blackmon’s apparel I’m guessing he would most likely line up for the Reds…

[Abby]

Having witnessed a live demonstration of your "Chinese walking" I am glad it is still working out for you. Soon you will have to register your hands and feet at the police station like all the best martial artists.