It's easy to become an injury bore, and I fear I may have been. I have posted updates about my knee, even pictures, while in the real world war, hunger, greed, unemployment and so on thrive. There are so many other things I could be writing. My novel, for instance, though I am stumped by the fundamental question, what should it be. The choices are:
- a dark, brooding Lawrentian effort about sex, the impossibility of relationships, mothers and wives, and the futility of modern life
- an autobiographical social realist effort, that tells of a young man's struggle to overcome the disadvantages of being a Cambridge doctor's son, brought up in a large house, with his every need catered for
- something silly and post-modernist narrated by a talking bacterium
- or money-spinning smut in which one-dimensional characters tie each other up and thrash one another, all the rage, it seems
Nevertheless, I must tell the world that today I ran a decent distance for the first time, three miles. The knee felt odd at first, though I think that is partly the bandage, but I lasted. I had a place in the Newick Will Page 10k today, but I thought a 10k might be a little too much, at least for now. I have a place in the Hellingly 10k, two weeks hence, and hope to be fit enough by then.
I return to the nurse on Tuesday. I hope she will remove my bandages for the last time and give me permission to swim.
