A little note before I start: It has been pointed out to me that some people might not really appreciate the way I portrait them or their country here so unless I'm certain I can ridicule you in public, I will be a little more careful with names etc. and what is going on at the place that I call work. I hope it does not have too much of a detrimental effect...

Well, another week has come and the Biggest Loser program is now in full swing.

Monday saw the start of the special menu in the canteen (sigh) and also the beginning of the first activity: Powerwalking.

There are actually 2 choices for taking part. One at 6am (I THINK NOT) and one at 6pm.

It was my full intention to participate and report back to you lovely people what this intriguing activity might entail, but it was not to be.

On Monday, I just missed the 6pm group and was therefore forced to rely on Miss M from P and on another friend who would normally not be my first choice as an exercise partner. You see, he just ran the Amsterdam Marathon 2 weeks ago and even finished it, so we're not exactly in the same league when it comes to exercising. He also carries a slightly worrying amount of gizmos when exercising. Believe me, man has gone to the moon and back with less computing power than he takes for a jog. However, he is younger than me, has even less hair than me (hehe) and is known to make the occasional sarcastic comment (mostly for my, ah, benefit), so I don't normally mind having him around.

Anyway, those 2 were available so off we go in a weird mixture of running and walking. Weird mixture because Miss M is walking and the rest would rather run and actually does so in what could maybe called installments, i.e. run for a little then turn back to fall back to Miss M before starting over.

Before we started I had to wait a little for the 2 of them and so I had time to stretch and warm up a little which turns out to be a good thing.

In fact, it proves absolutely vital as maybe 2 kilometers away from the hotel I trip and land awkwardly on my left foot.

Those of you who know me and my medical history for a bit longer do know that if I'm not currently fighting for my life against swollen tonsils blocking my airways, my usual area of expertise is ruining my knees. However, my body seems to go along with the whole changing-of-life-moving-to-Curacao thing and decides against the knees and goes for the ankle. Ouch!

For a minute or so I just think that this is it again: Cast, crutches, physio-therapy and the lot. Those of you who have ever broken, ruptured or sprained something will know what I mean.

Leaning against the wall and standing on my good foot, I carefully test how much strain my injured foot will take. Not a lot. I also wonder how the hell I will get back to civilization. While my friend's gadgets might be able to monitor my heart rate and other life signs and pinpoint our GPS position to about a meter for the Med-Evac, they don't fare so well when trying to replicate a wheelchair.

The situation does improve though after maybe a minute or so and I slowly start hobbling back towards the hotel. In my mind, nightmare scenarios keep unfolding about having to deal with a cast in these temperatures and being stuck at my desk the whole day. Miss M does her best to enliven my ankle fantasies by providing some horror stories of her own, mostly referring to painkillers and the fact that you can't really drink alcohol while you're taking them. This has some alarm bells ringing I can tell you...

While it's not comfortable, at this point I can still walk within reason. This will remain so for the rest of the evening when I ice the ankle and also put on some Sports Cream provided by my friend thinking positively about the future.

This has changed dramatically by the time I wake up Tuesday morning. I'm back to the point where I can't really put any weight on it and every movement hurts.

Luckily it's my left foot and I drive an automatic so at least I can drive reasonably well and get to the hotel. The way from the car park to the office is long though and I get there exhausted. At this point there is no doubt that I will have to seek medical attention if things are to improve.

I go and see a lovely doctor who confirms a sprained (and by this time quite swollen) ankle. I get some cooling gel and anti-inflammatory medication plus a bandage and am told to take it easy (poco poco). An X/ray is considered unnecessary.

I would like to point out that the medical service received is much better than the skeptical old me has expected. It's not at all complicated and very quick, both at the doctor as well as the pharmacy. It's easily ten times better than England (big deal I hear a lot of you think) but also good in comparison with Germany and I would say it can hold it's own against Norway and Switzerland.

So, instead of exercising, I just sit around a lot collecting dust. It does give me time for writing up all this though, so at least you benefit.

I will keep you informed on how I'm doing.