I can’t believe I haven’t written about my bl**dy heels yet. I’ve been complaining about them for months. They’re broken. Well, not broken, but as near as dammit. Torn, or strained. Something nasty and painful.

It’s all tennis’s fault. Too much running. That’s what I get for playing hours of singles against men twenty years younger than me. Typically, for weeks I ‘firmed it’ (as the boys would say). Took the Ibuprofen, did the stretching (not enough) and gritted my teeth. I may have won a few skirmishes, but my ankles won the war, and I eventually admitted defeat and limped away from tennis. Oh, and running, cycling…you name it, it went. A twenty-minute hobble with the dog the only bearable form of movement I could muster.

Gravity is the enemy. As is age. Two adversaries that always seem to have the upper hand. However, to coin a phrase, when one door closes another one opens, and in the absence of tennis, and with time I’m unused to having on my hands, I’ve turned to new pursuits to keep me fit and busy

First up, swimming. Take that gravity!

I launched myself into the outside pool at David Lloyd and managed one length before pulling up puffing and blowing like a surfacing narwhal. However, I’m happy to report that over time my swimming fitness is slowly improving, and I’ve got into a routine where a friend and I meet up for a 30 minute swim twice a week, followed by submersion in the waters of the jacuzzi to defrost.

Then there’s golf. The jury’s still out on this one. It’s a ridiculous game. Really ridiculous. Unbelievably frustrating. How hard can it be to hit a tiny ball across a large field into a tiny hole? Seriously hard as it turns out. I am terrible at it. But it’s so annoying! I’m becoming slightly addicted to getting better at it. Also, there’s a bar at the end of the course which is a helpful incentive to get round.

I really, really, really miss tennis. And I am really, really, really bored with ankles that hurt all the time. However, without getting my hopes up, and with weekly physio, there does seem to be light at the end of the tunnel. The constant ache isn’t there, the shooting pains ten minutes into every dog walk are kicking in less often. My left tendon has stopped looking like a lumpy rope with a wine gum stuck to the side and started to return to its usual, more streamlined shape.

I’ve said to myself it’ll be 2026 before I hit a tennis ball again. But who knows…maybe it’ll be earlier?! Mustn’t get too excited. And I also mean to make sure that, as and when I’m back to full working order, I keep this balance I’ve found. Tennis has a habit of sucking you into a vortex of nothing else but tennis.

Having broken Achilleses has helped me find new friends and new things to do I’d never have thought of before. It’s a much healthier balance and one I intend to hold onto.