The sports centre wasn’t guilty of that. Twice a week he met up with friends and played wheelchair basketball. The benefits were social as much as they were fitness. He got out of the house whenever he could, but that was getting increasingly difficult as muscular degeneration caught up in the race they’d been having for several years. Sometimes he felt strong enough to believe that it would never get the better of him. Then there were days when just lifting his arms to pick up the kettle and make a cup of tea was the effort equivalent of a boxing match.

Today was about medium on the scale of useless to extraordinary. The basketball team was diverse in terms of how each had arrived at wheelchair status. From army veterans to car-crash victims, those who’d been born lacking a functioning pair of legs to one who’d attempted suicide from a high building only to smash both legs beyond repair but with a renewed appreciation of the value of life. They all carried a label.

Sport had always been a part of his life. He’d played football, rugby, hockey, jogged whenever he could and never felt it was a chore. Then, as if in slow motion, his body had begun to fail. The misdiagnoses in the early stages had veered from the ridiculous to the just plain negligent. Glandular fever. Food poisoning. Excessive growth spurt. Gluten intolerance. Hypochondria. And excessive masturbation: if only.

He still loved getting outside. These days things just happened a little slower. He’d be on the sidelines watching his local team playing football rather than scoring goals himself, and offer encouraging words to those doing their utmost to shift from the sofa to completing their first park run. Sidelined pretty much summed up how he defined life in a wheelchair. That wasn’t self-pity – just his reality.

The girls who’d giggled when he’d spoken to them in his past life – a tall, well-muscled eighteen-year-old – now slid their gazes towards his able-bodied friends. Potential employers saw him as either a diversity tick box or as requiring additional investment. Not everyone, not everywhere. Life still had its moments of hilarity, warmth, and fulfilment. But had the edge been taken off? You fucking bet it had.