Bernard O'Shea: Five things I learned from my first bad fall

I took a spectacular tumble into middle age—and learned five unexpected lessons from my first “bad fall.”

Bernard O'Shea: "We spend a lot of time pretending we’re still in our 20s. We talk about starting yoga. We wear runners designed for sprinting, but only walk to the car with them."

1. Mocking is catching, especially when it comes to your mother

I was on stage doing stand-up, absolutely roasting my mother for saying, “You’re only about 10 or 15 years away from your first bad fall.” This is a classic Irish mammy line, delivered with that mix of doom and helpfulness she reserves for weather warnings and people she insists I know but don’t know have died.

I laughed. The audience laughed. The gods did not laugh.

I went over on my ankle a week later, while slipping on a square manhole cover. One second, I was upright and invincible; the next, I was on the ground like a man who had lost a duel with gravity and, more importantly, his pride.

I have had falls before. We all have. But this one was different. This one came with crutches, a swollen ankle the size of a baby’s head, and something worse: The dawning realisation that she might be right. I didn’t bounce back up. I paused. I checked. I cursed. 

Then, I hobbled. And as I limped around, I started wondering — what about a fall suddenly makes you feel middle-aged? My fall was less of a stumble and more of a life review.

2. ‘Having a fall’ is Irish shorthand for ‘we’re worried about you now’

In Ireland, a fall isn’t just an accident. It’s a premonition. It’s the first chapter in a medical file that ends with your family whispering, ‘He was never the same after the fall.’ 

It’s how we gently say, ‘We’re thinking of getting you one of those alarms you wear around your neck.’

Irish mammies, in particular, use the phrase ‘a bad fall’ with an undertone of divine punishment. I used to think it was dramatic until I became the main character in one.

Historically, falls have always been symbolically loaded: The fall of man; the fall of Rome. And now, the fall of Bernard O’Shea in Cork City right opposite the Holy Trinity Church. (Yes, I had a bad fall outside of Mass, which is the ultimate of bad falls.) 

When you say to someone, ‘I had a bit of a fall,’ they don’t ask for details. They go quiet and look at you like you’ve entered a new bracket — one with a seated shower.

3. Your muscles are quietly quitting by the time you hit 40

Sarcopenia is age-related muscle loss. I know, it sounds like a Sicilian mob boss.

But it’s not. Your body says, ‘I’m just not that in to resistance anymore.’ By the time you’re in your 40s, you lose muscle every year unless you actively do something about it. Which most of us don’t.

I used to think my muscles would always be there, like old friends. But, no — they’re fair-weather friends. 

Stop training them and they ghost you. I also discovered that muscle mass isn’t just about vanity — it’s about survival. 

It’s your suit of armour. It’s the difference between catching yourself mid-fall or auditioning for a stairlift ad. And the benefits are immediate.

I started doing some PT sessions for the last month, and boy, oh boy, I was glad I did. 

When I started using crutches, I felt my arms doing work they hadn’t done since Leaving Cert PE.

4. There is way too much information online

The moment I fell, I did what any modern man does after a mild-to-moderate trauma: I Googled it. Before I knew it, I was down a rabbit hole of terrifying Latin words and YouTube physios named Chad.

One video had a man confidently explaining that what I needed was to release my peroneus longus using a lacrosse ball, a frozen towel, and something called ‘co-contraction’.

I became obsessed. I cross-referenced my symptoms with articles from the NHS, a German bodybuilding forum, and a wellness blog written by a woman who cured her knee using moon water (OK, this one isn’t true). 

I nearly bought compression socks with copper in them because my ankle also needed to conduct electricity.

But here’s what I learned: The most helpful thing anyone said to me was, “This happens all the time. Rest, elevate.” 

It came from an actual doctor, a person who had seen hundreds of ankles like mine and didn’t flinch once. He didn’t need me to name the tendons. He didn’t care about my deep dive in to plantar flexion.

And, in that moment, I felt profound relief. It turns out that the most radical treatment plan was not to obsessively research the injury, but to accept that people smarter than me had already figured this out.

5. Your first bad fall isn’t the end of youth. It’s a warning shot — and a very wobbly wake-up call

I won’t pretend the fall didn’t dent my ego. It did. I limped in to middle age with all the grace of a man who thought a Theragun was an actual weapon. But it also gave me clarity. 

Not the deep philosophical kind, but the kind that makes you Google ‘ankle-strengthening exercises’ at 2am.

We spend a lot of time pretending we’re still in our 20s. We talk about starting yoga. We wear runners designed for sprinting, but only walk to the car with them.

The fall stripped all that away and replaced it with something more honest: A desire not to fall again.

Now, I train not to impress, but to prevent. Not to flex, but to function. I don’t want six-pack abs. I want to tie my laces without sounding like I’m summoning a demon.

So, yes, my mother was right about my first bad fall, but it turns out it was only two weeks away.