I took a six-week sabbatical, just a little more than the biblical forty days and forty nights. I thought the only way my right knee would improve would be if it was properly rested. Thus, on Wednesday, exactly six weeks after the Seaford Striders Solstice run, I set forth from my tent at the sailing club, my home for sailing week, to run a gentle two miles along the sea front. The run itself was uneventful; there were a few niggles in the left knee, the one injured last year, my feet felt odd, and it was tiring, but not so tiring that I couldn't finish up with a swim in the sea.
The sword of Damocles that had been hanging over my head fell the following day. After a couple of hours sitting at a desk, I got up, to discover the return of the pain. It persists today, a little.
So, what is to be done, as Lenin once asked? I accept that there is going to be knee pain. The doctor thought there was nothing major wrong, and the orthopaedic consultant who gave both knees an MRI scan last year found nothing more than the normal degeneration he would expect in a 58-year-old runner. Perhaps I should shut up and get on with it. With judicious stretching, gradual increases in distance, the only race for which I have an entry, the Brooks Brighton 10K, is achievable. How far success in the Sussex Grand Prix, which would require me to run six of the remaining seven races, is a realistic aim, I'm not sure. I shall keep running, increasing distance, and hope I can make it to the Newick Will Page 10k on bank holiday weekend.
