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5 hours ago
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I’ve long had a soft spot for the achilles tendon, my own and everyone else’s. This goes back to middle school where we read a book called Greeks and Trojans by Rex Warner, which I greatly enjoyed, although my engagement with the classics went no further. It related the story of the demise of the hero whose name the tendon bears. Also, my initial and my surname have been known to autocorrect to the name of the great warrior/tendon. We have a connection.
The achilles is the tendon connecting the gastrocnemius and soleus muscles in the calf to an insertion point at the calcaneus. Or, in English, it’s the worryingly cable-like thing running down the back of your ankle to your heel. The Greek Achilles was fatally wounded in the heel while fighting in the Trojan war. My own (non-fatal) achilles wound was sustained a long way from the gates of Troy, at a leisure centre in Stourbridge. I did it playing pickleball. Not especially heroic, I appreciate, but for someone who’d never picked up a pickleball paddle before, I was thought to be half-decent. Given the pain I’ve been in ever since, I doubt I’ll be back for more. And with his vulnerability in the heel area, I can’t imagine pickleball would have much suited the original Achilles either.
The treatment has involved me clopping around in a big boot for more than a month now. Annoying. Yet I still have a soft spot for this stricken tendon of mine. We have a lot in common. It’s generally regarded just as I regard myself: thick, strong and yet rather weak.
The achilles is said to be the strongest tendon in the human body, with studies reporting an average ultimate tensile strength of up to 1,189 newtons. I don’t know what that means, but my own achilles was obviously a few newtons short of what it needed to get me through a game of pickleball. Bafflingly, just as an internet search will suggest the achilles is the strongest tendon in the body, it will also tell you it’s the weakest. This, apparently, is because though it is strong, relative to what we demand of it, with running and jumping and whatnot, it is indeed weak, or at least not quite strong enough. But it tries so hard. Heartwarming. Heartbreaking. No wonder it’s named after a mythical hero.
By the way, if you have a spare minute, entertain yourself with a look at the list of body parts named after people. My top three at the time or writing are alcock’s canal, bachmann’s bundle and the circle of willis.
Anyway, having been brutalised by my physio, my troubled tendon is now on the mend. He tells me that even having been successfully treated, an injured achilles, in common with key tendons in the elbow and knee, will always be tender to the touch. Once stricken, for ever a little vulnerable. Like a broken heart, God love it.
I’ve learned other interesting stuff, too. Not least that “I twanged my achilles playing pickleball” is one hell of a conversation-stopper if you’re not in the mood for a chat. More importantly, it’s provided me with yet more evidence that the vast majority of people are dead nice. I haven’t wanted for a seat on public transport for weeks now. My days have featured a succession of kind looks, caring smiles and sympathetic noises. I offered one old boy my seat, which he took, until he spotted my booted right peg and was beside himself with remorse. I practically had to pin him down to stop him standing back up. My favourite was an exhausted-looking guy with a Just Eat delivery bag at his feet. He looked like he’d done a 12-hour shift. I begged him to sit back down but he didn’t speak English and was having none of it.
I tell you, I’ll miss this boot.
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Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
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