Not this time

It was the summer of 1986. In the desert. It was hot. Very hot. And I am running. Did I mention it was hot. The mountains were yellow. The sky was blue. The road is charcoal black and, towards the horizon, as the road curves past a hill I see water. Cool, flowing water. A fata morgana.

Running up the hill, 10km in, I start to feel my right knee. Something awkward. Not a pain. More discomfort. It is as if the joint has run dry. It takes just that little bit longer to straighten the right leg then the left one. To make up for it the strides must be longer. Every step is putting more pressure on the left knee. By the 15th km both the left knee hurts more than the right. I stop. Big mistake. As the body cools down the knees become stiffer. By the morning I can barely fold my right knee. It's like a car engine in winter, when the lubricant freezes up. It is 3 months before my conscription date. Not the best start. 5 months in my knee gave up.

Last Friday the discomfort in my right knee came back. Saturday was the first time I missed a run this year. Two runs in since and its not much better. Honestly, I am a bit worried. Only 560km down, still 440km to go. I cannot, I will not, let my knee to give up on me again.