Is a hamstring part of an orchestra???

AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH - THE PAIN!!!!!!

Just been for a run after my flippin leg has been killing me since Trainer Boy's workout last week. I've been hobbling around like Long John Silver (minus the parrot) and I've not even been able to put my shoes on without wincing. So, today I decided that I've tried resting it and it's not got better so I might as well go for a run on it and see if I can loosen it up that way.

Big mistake.

I did a proper warm up including loads of stretches that made me look like Mr. Tickle in a spin dryer and did a bit of a power walk before I started running but after about a mile, something happened. There was an enormous twanging noise which was not dissimilar to the noise I feel my giant Saturday night pants would have made if their elastic had failed. I ended up in a crumpled heap in agony on a grass verge at the side of the pavement. I was yelling in pain and writhing around between a discarded kebab box and a dog turd. How delightful.

I sat there crying for about 10 minutes before I dared to even try to stand up. I then felt like some sort of drunk thunderbird puppet as my top half was working relatively well but my legs had to do a very interesting and exceedingly stiff little half hop/half shuffle to move forward.
It took me nearly half an hour to get back home and I had to scale the hill near my house on which even Edmund Hillary would have hung up his everest walking poles and crampons and admitted defeat.

I semi crawled my way into the house and lay face down on the carpet in the back room. (It was at this point that I found the missing badminton racket I've been searching for and my favourite hair clip as I spotted both of them under the sideboard as I lay in agony on the floor - every cloud has a silver lining eh!)

Just as I was wondering whether or not I was actually going to vomit with pain, trainer boy rang to have a chat. I sobbed down the phone that I thought I'd left my hamstring somewhere on a verge by the A50 and trainer boy swung into action with an online diagnosis. He reckons that I have actually strained my hamstring as it's been so painful for so long and hasn't got any better with anything I've done so far. He said he'd dash round and come and ice it for me but the thought of him seeing me tear-stained, sweating and covered in grass from the verge (not to mention the fact I hadn't shaved my legs and have terrifyingly hairy shins) made me insist that he stay away. He was devastated that I was hurt and desperate to come round and attend to me but I opted for a tried and tested cure all. I'm therefore now round at my parents' with a giant family sized bag of minstrels and the telly on.

I'm meant to be seeing trainer boy tomorrow though and he's been absolutely delightful for the past few days. He texts me all the time and makes me laugh so much as well as doing lovely things like researching my telly for me and buying me meals out. I have also found out some rather intriguing info about him too. Now, brace yourself ladies cause this is the stuff of dreams.....
Trainer boy is not only University Educated, has his own trendy flat, has abs as bumpy and well defined as a relief map of the Peak District, is a great hockey and football player, is lovely to his mum and sister and is so kind he makes mother Theresa look like a sour old cow but he is also.....

a fully qualified masseur!!!!!

He's qualified to do Swedish, sports, hot stone and therapeutic massage and without giving too much away on here ladies - I can vouch for the fact that he has magic hands!!! So, needless to say I am beginning to thoroughly enjoy my time with trainer boy and the other night he said something so lovely I thought what on earth had I done to deserve such a lovely bloke being nice to me.

He explained that he totally understood my situation as his sister's husband left her after only six months and he said some really lovely things about how he knew exactly what my family must be going through in all of this as he knows how hard it was to support his sister at the time. He then went on (and I'm going to quote a few text messages here)

"Right young lady, if you can't tell that I really like you then I am a lot worse at this game than I imagined. I think you're great and completely understand you not wanting to be hurt. Like I said, I am the last guy to go jumping into long term relationships and I am happy taking it easy with you and seeing what happens. However, the ball has to be in your court on this one; I just hope you bat it back to me"

and

"If I failed to convey my message then I think you're beautiful, funny, interesting and need some fun in your life again. I will support you in whatever you want and will never put any pressure on you."

and

"It's lovely and sunny here but whatever the weather you'd always make me seem brighter and just glow and even if it rained it would be the perfect excuse to stay in doors and just be with you."

and (my favourite)

"For someone to have been through all the stuff that you have and still be kind, sweet and gentle must be someone very special What on earth are you doing with me? - OK need to retain my manliness now so just off to train."

Is he the sweetest or what??? We also had a big conversation about the whole "what are we doing?" situation as I've seen him a few times and things were starting to feel a bit awkward. It was then that trainer boy came up with the most lovely solution. He said that he did secretly wish he could say that he was my boyfriend but knows that the situation at the moment with supertwat and my rather fragile state means that that's just not feasible at the moment. He therefore explained that whenever he got invites to friends' houses and weddings etc he always got asked to bring a, "plus one". He then said that he didn't want just anyone to be a "plus one" but that there was, "only one he wanted to be his plus one" and that that was me. I tell you, I almost melted into a huge gibbering puddle there and then when he said that.

So, I've resisted the urge to let him dash over and tend to my dodgy hamstring which is as taught as a marquee guy rope and am instead just sitting in front of the TV and surfing the net for info about divorces. Texted supertwat yesterday to say that we needed to get the ball rolling with thinking about how to end the marriage formally and that he needed to speak to his dad (who's a judge) but I haven't heard from him. I tried calling him today but he didn't pick up so I can only assume he's busy strapping on his supertwat cape, pulling on his underpants over his jeans and is off causing misery and chaos in another part of the galaxy as he doesn't seem to want to start clearing up the mess in this one. It really does show that he is the most immature little toerag that he hasn't even bothered to reply to a very simple request to get in touch - not even a text to say that he's busy but will talk later or anything. Turd.

Anyway, am off now to try and bend my leg again as otherwise I'm going to have to dash off to Tracey Island with Virgil instead of going home.

So, opinions on trainer boy please ladies - what would you do????

Thanks again to those who post replies - it makes me feel so much better and really spurs me on to keep writing.

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