I spent the weekend putzing around the house and avoiding the gym, but I was on my feet too much, and my tweaky left knee by Sunday evening had morphed from its usual benign tweakiness to a state of painful immobility that had me wondering whether I was going to be able to walk to work on Monday.
This may seem like an odd concern, I’ll admit, given that the Dark Times have presently descended upon the city and our frosty, sub-freezing mornings and their seasonally appropriate northwesterly gales were certain to greet me the next morning. But, it’s too cold for bicycling and the Crapmobile is, well, the Crapmobile, and the change in season has me in its thrall. I just want to get out in it every morning.
My knee’s still a bit stiff when I awake on Monday, but I count as a good omen the fact that, when I slip on the frost-covered steps heading toward the street I do not go airborne. A block later, everything is loosening up nicely. I’m not really clear on why challenging your tweaky joints has the effect of making them less tweaky, but that seems to be what occurs on these occasions. For the half-hour or so that it takes for me to trek across the frozen lawn of Minnehaha Park, over the Intercity Bridge and up the hill to my St. Paul office, all my appendages are willingly cooperating with one another.
It all feeds this minor delusion I entertain — that as long as I keep moving, I’m going to be OK. Or, as my old friend, Dan, puts it: