If I've been quiet for the past few days, it's largely because of photography (of course) and fitness. I began running last week, with the goal of doing a half-marathon at the end of October. It sounded like a good way to get fit while also engaging in camaraderie with Sabino.

Tuesday was awful. I felt like an elephant lumbering down the road. I sucked wind. I walked more than I ran. Wednesday wasn't much better. I took Thursday off, and when I ran again on Friday I was shocked to find that (a) it felt great and (b) I was able to run an entire mile without stopping to walk. (It was a slow run, true, but still a run.)

"Maybe I can do this," I thought.

On Sunday afternoon, I went for a three-mile run on my walking path through Oak Grove. I was able to do a mile-and-a-half before stopping for a breather. I felt great. Mostly. Except for my knee.

I had surgery to repair a torn ACL two years ago. As a consequence, maneuvering downhill became something of a challenge. For a full eighteen months after the surgery (up until last winter), it was painful and awkward to walk down stairs, for example.

My Sunday run featured four downhill stretches of various lengths. I didn't even consider them a problem at first, but then I noticed that my gait was rather uneven on descents. "That's odd," I thought until I connected the hitch in my step with my knee surgery. As the run progressed, the problems worsened. By the end of the run, I could tell that some of the muscles in my right leg were doing work that they oughtn't be doing, compensating for the weak knee.

"I'm going to be sore tomorrow," I thought. I posted an AskMetafilter question, to which the typical response was, "Dude, stop running. Go see a doctor. You're being too ambitious."

I talked with Kris about the problem. "Stop running," she said. "Go see a doctor. You're being too ambitious."

Still, in my gut, I thought I could do this.

Monday was a rest day, so I didn't worry that my knee was sore. Tuesday, however, I had planned to run three miles. Only I couldn't. Not only was my knee sore, there was alarming amount of swelling. I cursed myself, swallowed a handful of ibuprofen, and hoped for the best.

This morning, the pain and swelling were back. I was a surly boy, much the same as when I was experiencing pain from the original knee injury. I took more ibuprofen; it brought blessed (though slow) relief.

I still wasn't willing to give up the goal of running a half-marathon. "Fine," I thought. "Today is a cross-training day, anyhow. I'll ride my bike instead." I rode for seven miles at a brisk pace, maintaining my heart rate near the top of training level. I was winded when I finished. I felt good. Except for my knee. It hurt. And when I drove home from work two hours later, it hurt like bloody hell. In fact, the pain was the worst it had been since my physical therapy ended.

When I arrived home, I took more ibuprofen. I pulled my walking cane out of storage. "I guess I'm not going to be running after all," I told Kris. She was pleased to hear this, but deep in my heart, I am sad.

Maybe I'll let the knee heal for a week or two. Maybe then I'll start slowly, with bicycling, and gently work into more strenuous activity. Maybe I'll begin running again in the spring. Maybe I'll take a slow and measured path to fitness. Maybe I'll run a half-marathon next Halloween.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2004 — Alaskan Cruise: Ketchikan to Anchorage   Rather than spend the next several days relating our adventures, I'll compress everything into one day. It'll probably read better this way, anyhow.