It’s been a month since I flew home from Auckland, after two great bucket-list-ticking Springsteen shows to finish the 2014 tour and of course discover I had indeed powered through those final concerts on a broken foot.
(Seriously, where’s my fucking medal?!)
Since then the roll call run-inflicted injury has served a great distraction to what so many other Springsteen fans and writers deem to be the ‘Bruce Blues’.
You can’t underestimate the physical and mental toll endured during that period of time after spending days or weeks on the road where you’re only existence in life is to get a low number, get to roll call and get a spot near the stage for the show. In between issues of working out what to eat, drink and where to sleep are incidental.
All making the final concert and trip home a painful goodbye, and the adjustment to working life a depressing return to reality.
No matter how much pain you suffered or how tired you got hitting show after show, the moment you finally get home and have to face going back to work you know where you would rather be.
Some good ways to avoid the post-tour blues is to organise meet-ups within a few months, go see another live music show – for me it was the excellent Neil Finn – download some bootlegs and to invest in whatever new concert release is available for home viewing. MusicCares anyone?
This time however, all my tour-end depression has been kept at bay as I have to watch almost every step I take with my left foot in a protective Equalizer Walker – aka a moonboot.
Clearly someone who busts a metatarsal on the final step of a run to keep number 46 in line at roll call already has some coordination difficulties.
But put my left leg in a plastic padded, Velcro-strapped boot and I’m not going to be able move anyway without trouble.
A week on crutches saw me bash things over and get them stuck everywhere.Off the crutches I have to really concentrate on walking up and down stairs because it takes ages and depending on going up or down a different foot has to lead the way. Get it wrong and I have to grab on to the nearest rail to stop from flailing down the stairs.
Meanwhile after kicking a few people - accidentally - in a crowded bar I’ve decided after work drinks in the city are being put on hold for a few weeks. They’re just not safe.
Overall it hasn’t been too bad, but it does seem that the universe is bent on kicking me while my left foot is down, by constantly reminding me of how exactly I broke my foot.
First, as I’m taking an load of taxis to work and back, I’m constantly telling everyone where I live.
Until I’ve always got a kick out of living on a street called Tenth Avenue. In three years of walking down the road or driving past the sign everyday it hasn’t got old.
Limping past it however, it begins to wear you down.
Then of course is the irony that people have just loved to point out about how and where I broke the foot. My part of the conversation frequently goes like this...
Yes, I went to Auckland in the hope of seeing Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band play the full Born To Run album I missed in Melbourne.
Yes, I broke my foot running.
No, clearly I ‘wasn’t born to run’.
No…. all shows aren’t the same, and I did go to the ones in Perth.
(Who knew there were so many fucking observant comedians?….)
The best reminder of all however was the part of the hospital I have to hop to for the follow up appointments.
The outpatients department for foot injuries is of course on ‘E Street’.
So as I count down the final ten days of only wearing a show on my right foot and limping like a 6ft 2 idiot with his leg stuck in a bucket, at least I know I still have one more visit to E Street to look forward to.
In the meantime, those who want to help my recovery, head over to
in the public vote category.