A friend told me the other day that he'd checked into my blog to see how my knee was coming along, and I hadn't posted on it in a while. He inferred that the adventure was wearing thin. He inferred correctly.

Six weeks out. Early weight-bearing, first steps walking today without the crutches. Just a few small crutchless journeys. I felt as though I could have done more, but I'm trying very hard to be patient. These journeys were quite literally the first time in six weeks that those crutches have been out of arms' reach, except perhaps for the times my friend Paul gave me a ride to work and put them in the back of his pickup. Palpable freedom.

I got the brace yesterday, beginning what I expect to be a lifelong relationship. It gave me the confidence to start the walking, though in truth I don't really need it for that. Its main role is to protect the damaged part of the knee during strenuous exercise. Two logos in full view: U.S. Ski Team on the box and the Arthritis Society on the brace itself. Interesting conjunction of lifestyles.

Physical therapy right now involves endless series of quad contraction exercises of various sorts, a rear guard action in the losing battle against lost muscle mass. And more and more time on the bike: up on the stand with a view out the back window of trumpet vines and hummingbirds and sunflowers. (Note to self: find gardener and kiss her.) I'm finally able to starting pushing enough with my right leg to get my heart rate up, revealing a whole new level of frustration. I've slipped aerobically out of shape.

Work to be done. Work to be done.