As a famous warrior, I’ve led a pretty eventful life. I’ve even had some poems written about me. My friends always tell me not to brag about my achievements, but I think it’s only fair to share all the good I’ve done for the world. Leading a whole army? Spreading love to many people? Dragging some random guy around behind my chariot? The stuff of legend.
Ever since my mum dipped me in the Styx as a kid, this weird tendon at the back of my lower leg has been playing up. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me – I know the symptoms and have experienced them for years, but it’s never been this bad. I know I’ll need to seek out Achilles Tendonitis treatment pretty soon. That’s what I’ve called that little leg muscle – Achilles. It’s named after me, since I’m awesome. It also seems to affect me worse than anyone else I’ve ever come across, so I think I deserve to have my legacy living in perpetuity through the name of a muscle.
I’ve avoided seeking treatment up until this point due to sheer force of will, but it’s been a few millennia. I’m tired. I’ve injured my body from overuse, and if I want to continue walking, running and jumping to the best of my ability, I’ll have to get it seen to. Unfortunately, good battle medics are few and far between nowadays, so I search for the best Cheltenham Podiatrist clinic available in the area. I walk there immediately because I haven’t had a job in several centuries and I prefer chariots over cars. The clinic appears to be clean and modern. It has dozens of informative signs stuck to the walls, advertising symptoms for conditions like joint pain, arthritis, and treatments like prolotherapy. Very interesting stuff. I feel like since I know the muscles of the body so well, I should look into podiatry. I reckon I’ll be great.