In the normal run of things, a ten mile walk with friends
would have been a fairly effortless affair and a day out to look forward to.
Nowadays, it has become rather more onerous. What has changed is knee
cartilage, or more specifically, lack of it. In fact, there is none left.
I play 5-a-side on Thursday, badminton on Friday and we walk
on Saturday. I really need a full day’s recovery time between each venture,
but, of course, I don’t set the agenda. I’m OK for about 5 miles until the
picnic lunch stop, after which everyone else gets packed up again for part two
to the pub and part three, back to the cars.
My knees then demand that I leave them behind at the picnic
site. They fail to obey orders to stand up and look sharp. When I try to whip
them into shape for the p.m. session they start muttering under their breath
about “no more stiles” and “no more steps down.”
As it happens, the track bed of the old Midland Railway mineral
line from Teversal, via Tibshelf, to Westhouses, where it used to join the main
line, is almost flat and stile free. That does not prevent me from starting to
lag behind. My fellow ramblers make polite enquiries about my well-being. “OK,
thanks, just my knees,” I reply.
Choose your sports carefully, was the advice from my GP when
the problem first arose, and prior to key-hole surgery to hoover out the
detritus from behind the knee cap. Sensibly, that would mean dropping footy and
badminton. I’m not ready for that. They are the fun ones. I’ll just do shorter
walks - in fact, maybe they will come and pick me up from the pub when they
have completed their ridiculously lengthy treks. [Sorry, that was just my knees
talking again.]
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