It’s a funny thing, growing. Maybe I’m edging towards being long-in-the-tooth, but surely it can’t only be me who thinks that teenagers are getting scarily big these days?
The end of the school holidays and a return to uniform has led to a spate of ‘fix him quick please- rugby season’s starting’ appointments.
Yesterday, as I stood in the shadow cast by a six-foot-four thirteen year old, I wondered if there was really any truth to the concept of that our food’s nutritional content is declining through over-farming? Perhaps today’s youth is, instead, thriving on a diet of GM, bovine synthetic hormones and selfies?
Perhaps I should feel content in my diminutive stature. Height, and its rapid acquirement of, brings with it its own unique difficulties.
Let’s set the scene. Imagine you’re a teenage ‘boy’ who plays football five times a week; you’re a dutiful participant in six-thirty am weekday swim training sessions, and your coach has just decided you’re a bit nifty at butterfly. When asked to carry out a single-legged squat during your MSK clinic assessment, you manage a ‘Jail House Rock’ rubber band knee action that any would make any Elvis impersonator proud. Or maybe you’re a coy, door frame-ducking, hypermobile fourteen year old, who has spent the summer ‘perfecting’ his not-so-wonderful ‘straight leg hiking’ technique in a boat- whilst going through a two-shoe-size growth spurt.
Either way, it’s rectus femoris traction apophysitis 1: Rugby team selection: nil