A real pain in the back

It all started innocently enough — a nice, carefree game of tennis to christen the lovely new tennis racquet my mum had bought me for Christmas. Sure enough, it was doing wonders for my game and I was definitely in the zone, returning the ball with strength, accuracy and pizzazz (for me, anyway).

Then, as I was chasing after the ball, it happened. In full flight, I attempted to do a dramatic, body-twisting return hit, when — ping! — a stabbing pain shot up my back and I crumpled into a heap on the court.

Subsequent attempts to move my body in any direction were met with more stabbing pains and it soon became clear — my back had "gone" ...and it wasn't coming back again in a hurry. There was nothing for it but to shuffle to the car, get in (which took about 20 minutes and involved a series of strange robotic movements punctuated by loud shrieks of pain), and head for home.

The next two days were spent in various uncomfortable reclining poses, accompanied by more shrieks when I over-estimated my capabilities and tried to do foolish things like reach for a glass of water or turn the page of a book.

Gallantly hobbling into work on Monday I was met with much sympathy and soon realised that I had unknowingly joined a secret gang — the Bad Back Brigade. Seems the Woman's Day office is a veritable hub of back sufferers past and present.

Before I knew it, heat packs were on offer, physio and chiro business cards were being slipped into my pockets, and a whole range of drugs were being prescribed. There was a real sense of belonging.

Next time though guys, please count me out.