I'm awake

It's 11:05. On most nights, I've passed into a peaceful sleep by 9:45. Tonight, it didn't happen.

Today was our non-teaching day. We slept in, made breakfast, read, did some work, and went to a meeting. After the meeting, Paul and I put our bikes in the car and drove to Lake Warmaug, which is a beautiful lake less than 10 miles from campus. Paul's in the middle of a recovery week, so he offered to bring me along for a bike ride today. Over the break, I had bought a new, female saddle for my bike, and the Woburn Easter Bunny brought me some cold-weather cycling clothes, so I was eager to get out there and start what I hoped would be a long spring, summer, and fall of improving my cycling on these crazy Connecticut hills.

Maybe it was a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Or maybe I'm actually in-tune with my body. But in any case, it didn't take 15 minutes before I started "feeling" my left knee. I have been "feeling my knee" for about a year now. "Feeling" is my term for noticing that something doesn't seem right, even though it's not quite pain. I "feel" my knee usually when running, and lately, after seeing Ruth's surgery scar (see below), it has me worried more than usual.

So when my "feeling" became actual pain today on our ride, I was devastated. It was a pain that was completely new to me. It felt like my knee and the bone underneath it (what is it, Mom, my tibula?) were trying to start a fire by rubbing each other. I had to stop after one trip around the pond (which took us 41 minutes) to let Paul take his second loop alone (which took 26 minutes).

Now I can't sleep. Obviously, I'm a twenty-seven-year-old with osteoarthritis. What else could it be? Cycling is a non-impact activity, and aside from the severe discomfort of nothing but a thin, hard plastic teardrop between the crotch and the rushing texture of the pavement, it was as leisurely a ride as they come. And now I keep picturing my bones all exposed by dissolved cartilage, rubbing against one another and grinding bone matter away with each peddle stroke. Who could sleep with that sensation running from their imagination through all the nerves in the body?

Oh, just think of all the mountain summits I will never surmount breathlessly in eagerness to finally eat lunch. All the olympic-distance triathlons that will never be finished in just under four hours. Alas, what will become of all of the racquet talent that had yet to be properly realized by a truly fit version of this coordinated body? Will I suffer the shame of being ACE bound for the rest of my time on this earth?

Maybe Oprah will have me on her show...