Legs on theirs last legs?

I hope not. I definitely can’t run fifty meters without getting out of breath; I probably could no longer walk over nine miles under two hours as I did in my twenties; now and then somebody younger overtakes me on the pavement; I still find no problem in ‘commuting’ on feet and rarely use municipal public transport. I relish both sauntering and striding.

Understandably, it’s unsettling for somebody like me to develop footdrop, which later extends to one’s other foot, and only starts improving to be superseded by more frequent nocturnal leg cramps. (Even occasional diurnal ones, just sitting on a chair, something I don’t remember having experienced before.)

Where there’s life there’s hope though; I must be glad I no longer (except when returning from work in those steel-toed safety shoes) stump like Donald Duck, and hope against hope the cramps will go away (pun unintentional) by themselves like the foot drop did.


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