Although I didn't have the best night, with pain (leg, left) keeping me awake until the second newspaper hit the driveway, when I did eventually wake my knee was pretty good.





I made it upstairs to the kitchen without my walking stick and walking pretty normally. My pretence at dancing around the living room to point this out to Bob didn't instantly sink in, but eventually he seemed to understand. Whether it was the removal of the dressings yesterday, or just that it's time had come, I couldn't believe at how well I could move around.






Bob and I both headed into Customs at lunchtime, once again finding driving no problem in driving. The fences were going up at Floriade and it took a little time to park. Eschewing my crutches, I padded down to the start with a walking stick instead, concentrating on attempting to have as normal a gait as possible, heel down first, and wherever I could, taking one leg past the other instead of taking one one leg up to the line to the other.





While holding the stop watch at the start waving the runners off, I talked to Rad, and stood up most of the time. I was feeling pretty damn fine. After the event we had arranged to meet Rad and Friar for a bite to eat and a coffee at The Deck. It was here, as I struggled up to the car that I thought that perhaps I had overdone it. It was much more difficult to walk, and my knee was agony.





After a pleasant hour in the sun on the deck at Regatta Point, I had to head off to my physio appointment. My knee had stopped hurting quite so much while sitting outside in the faint late winter sunshine, my leg didn't hurt so much after resting up on a chair, although walking to the car was still rather difficult.





I made it in time (just!) to the physio, carrying in my crutches and leaving them leaning in a corner, expecting to leave them there. I was keen to obtain a bit more information from my physio than from the Surgeon in his cursory assessment yesterday. Advice to me that I would know when I could get rid of the crutches and I was obviously sensible (! really? news to me), I'd know what to do. Physio wouldn't be much benefit he thought.





Bob had already made the appointment early in the week, and by the time I got to the appointment I was keen to get some more detailed information on what I could and shouldn't do.





The physio appointment lived up to my expectations and then exceeded them. Graeme thought (rather acutely on reflection), that the doc had thought that I had just had a arthroscopy, quite possible as the nurse had removed my dressings, and the only examination was from afar as i was directed to straighten and bend my leg while he tapped notes into his apple laptop. With such a huge throughput of post-op patients that afternoon while I was in the waiting room, this is plausible.





The good news, the very good news, was that Graeme thought that it would be possible for me to be running (jogging, very slowly) in about eight weeks. I can handle 8 weeks! No swimming yet (then with a pull buoy). More exercises of the same sort that that I had been doing. Most importantly I need to get on the exercise bike - not the wind-trainer - to move my leg through the whole range of motion in a slow, measured manner.





I was told to keep using the crutches when I got fatigued (as I did this afternoon), so no getting rid of them just yet. By the time I got home, my knee ached terribly and I was hanging out for ice and a good lie down. Nevertheless, the news from the physio was good and better than I could have expected.





So not too much, too soon, but things are heading in the right direction!