Overcome an injury by Playing without a partner

I’d never played squash but when a friend suggested a game I readily agreed, having always enjoyed tennis, table tennis and badminton over the years. Although I knew very little about squash, I played soccer and badminton every week as well as running charity half-marathons. So I reckoned my fitness would equal my friend’s greater skill and experience on the squash court.

The local sports centre hired out a racket and my eagerly anticipated very first game of squash began. I was beaten 9-0 9-0 9-0. Afterwards in the changing-rooms, as other players relaxed in satisfied fatigue, I felt only frustration and disappointment. What a ridiculous game it appeared to be. Unlike tennis and table tennis, where the ball bounces high, the squash ball just plopped onto the floor and seemed to stay there, yards from where I waited to return. I found the court walls very restrictive. Whereas in the other racket games you can retrieve edge-of-court shots by swinging and even physically racing out of court, squash walls prevent this. Several times I enthusiastically swung the racket and banged it against the walls. Once I chased a difficult return into the wall. Needless to say, on all these occasions I failed to hit the ball! Being used to opponents on the opposite side of a net, I dashed around zealously, constantly impeding my friend and worrying about knocking him unconscious with my scything strokes. My feelings of claustrophobia and helpless frustration increased as I noticed several spectators looking down from the viewing gallery, seemingly like Romans gloating over a beaten Christian in the lion’s den. So much for squash, I thought. Never again!

The very next day, my mother-in-law arrived and gave me a present that my brother-in-law no longer used. Yes, that’ right. It was a squash racket and it was later tossed into the “useless gifts” cupboard. A few weeks later, playing Sunday morning football, I was tackled fiercely and my ankle collapsed. It began to swell immediately. By the afternoon the foot was turning Technicolor shades of purple, green and black. By the next day the swelling went up to the knee and down to the toes which resembled fat little sausages. The casualty department x-rays showed no fracture but damaged ligaments were diagnosed and the cure was to be ultrasound treatment at the physiotherapy department and ice-packs, elevation, bandages and rest at home. I assumed that I’d be out of sporting action for a few days but eight weeks later the ankle was still deformed and swollen and even gentle jogging was impossible.

With the unaccustomed inactivity came the bitter frustration. You can spend months and years building a hardcore of fitness and with one single blow it can all disappear. As the days and weeks pass with no physical activity, your muscles start to lose their tone and the body begins to go soft and weak. Your temper gets shorter, your patience gets strained and your family starts to suffer. I returned to the physio – more ultrasound, ice-packs, elevation and a tubigrip bandage. There was no improvement in the ankle. I went back to the casualty department and they re-checked the x-rays. There was definitely no fracture. “Be patient” they said, “You must allow time for the structural tissue damage to repair.” I was getting really depressed. I tried swimming but it hurt. I exercised with my bull worker but it’s not exactly fun.

I couldn’t run, couldn’t train and certainly couldn’t expect my friends to give an immobile player a game of anything. Then my wife suggested I use a squash court on my own. There would be no pressure of competition. I could play at my own speed, just gently hitting the ball back and forth and give the ankle a little light exercise. I booked an early morning court, resurrected the abandoned racket and gingerly hitting the ball against the wall. To make it return properly I had to hit it hard and to ensure no undue running I had to hit it accurately. By the end of the 40 minutes I was dripping with sweat and had a huge blister on my thumb…but felt fantastic. The blood was flowing through the body, the muscles were working, the brain was calculating and eight weeks depression and frustration were disappearing as the ball was socked harder and harder. The ankle was no better but certainly no worse and at least I felt alive again. I returned alone a few days later and, besides enjoying the basic delight of rocketing the ball back and forth, began to understand some of the subtleties of the game. I tried hitting the ball off two walls and astonished at the braking effect of the second impact.

I attempted angled shots and started to appreciate the geometrical possibilities. And all the time the ankle was being gently exercised, at its own pace. Being alone I could rest when I felt like it, without irritating an opponent. I could play five minutes rallies against myself, gradually increasing the twisting and turning. My arms and legs were toning up once more, my hand-to-eye co-ordination was improving, my stamina gradually building up again. The old ankle is still a bit weak but I reckon I could give my friend a game in a few weeks. And I don’t think I’ll be losing 27-0 again.