Ever since then, that knee has been hurting, sometimes so bad that I'm unable to walk until it "snaps" back into place. It has to be related, without a doubt. But when I'm walking, it's ok.
Two days ago, on Good Friday, it was all I could do to walk at all. My daughter, son-in-law and grandson were here and I could barely walk around the back yard with the little one. My knee was going downhill fast.
So I didn't walk with my poles.
Yesterday when I awoke, I was in more pain than I've been in for years. Not only was the knee hurting, the pain in my back was a 12 on a scale of 10.
What. The. Effing. Hell.
Is this a test to see if I'll quit?
It took me four Motrin, ice, and barely standing up for five/six hours before the pain level came down to about a 9.
So I limped out to my cottage, strapped on my poles, and "walked" around the backyard, ever so slowly.
I walked slowly through the blueberries, looked at the Dawn Redwood tree, talked to the two maples we transplanted last fall, watched Grandmother Willow, then came back to the house.
And did it two more times, because it felt that good.
I took off my shoes and felt the cool grass under my feet.
It helped.
Today is a new day.
Slow and steady wins the race.
No comments:
Post a Comment