I listened to a fictional account of Ernest Hemmingway’s spy ring he headed from his home in Cuba during WWII called ‘The Crook Factory’ on my ride home from the North Country. Audio books make driving enjoyable and it was good historical fiction…my favorite kind of literature. I made the trip in 8 hours, squirming from the discomfort of an aching knee. I knew I’d have to show some semblance of normalcy once I arrived at home to avoid Holly’s condemnation. She often wonders aloud about my trips, which seem to have me limping and complaining upon each return. I didn’t want another ‘I told you so’, but I surely had it coming.
Fortunately, I made it home before she arrived from work and had a chance to unpack my gear and get the knee limber so that she hardly noticed the limping when she arrived. Exercise was out of the question, though. I knew I couldn’t even go on a short hike in the Metropark, it was that bad. I put in an email to my doc, Nilesh Shah, describing the pain and how it had happened. He’d done the original diagnosis for the torn meniscus and was probably wondering why I hadn’t had the surgery already. Well…I was willing to give it a couple more days.
Good news when I gathered up the Plain Dealer’s I’d missed while camping…the Indians were on a roll and solidly in first place. They’d done this a year earlier and then tanked after the All-Star break, so I’d be holding my enthusiasm in check until maybe…September, but it was better to be in front than behind at this point.
I imagine I’ll be taking the next few days off from exercising…and going nutty in the process.
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