Having had a day out of the gym on Friday (off exercising my brain and visiting a mate down in the wilds of East-Sussex) I didnt really expect to wake up on Saturday with a painful and swollen left knee. So I was frankly irritated when that's exactly what did happen. Fortunately, and possibly thanks to the early consumption of a handful of ibroprofen, the situation hasn't deteriorated to the point where I'm hopping about with the aid of a stick and grimacing with every move. That is NOT going to happen.
Fate, of course, might conspire to arrange things otherwise. Im just about to get on a plane, where I'll spend the next ten hours en route to San Francisco. Still, with the sound advice of Elizabeth the physio in my ears, a handful of drugs in my pocket, 30cm of tubigrip on my knee and a jammed into pair of flight-socks (sexy!) it wont be for lack of trying on my part!
All things considered, I didn't expect to get a walk today, and was seriously jealous when I read about my mates' exploits on Facebook - but I forgot - I'm flying from Heathrow. It really doesn't seem to matter which airline, or what terminal you use (hint, United and Terminal one are the worst combination) - if you're going to take a transatlantic flight from London's premier Airport it WILL feel like you've walked halfwar to your ultimate destination by the time you get on a plane.
Wish me luck?
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