Honestly, who needs legs anyway?

After riding to New Jersey and back, my legs were feeling a little sore.

"Mom, do you think it's normal for my knee to feel nastily bruised inside whenever it moves?"

"Maybe you should get that checked before you bike to Canada."

Meanwhile, at the chiropractor's:

"Does that hurt?"

"Nope."

"How about there?"

"Not a bit!"

"And if I press here—"

"Ouch! Yep, that's the spot."

The man casually sat back and said with a grin, "You have Patella Femoral Syndrome."

I was so excited! I raced in to tell Dan and Carly.

"I have Patella Femoral Syndrome!"

They recoil slightly, perhaps laden with thoughts of, 'Oh no! No more bicycle tour!' or 'Forsooth, wherfore dodst the lad babble with such jubilation?'

"It happens to bikers and soccer players all the time! I still get to go biking this summer and I won't ruin my knees forever! All I need to do is take Advil and do stretches!"

I have since attended my one-and-only physical therapy session to learn how to save my legs. (If only I had learned how to shave my legs! More aerodynamic, I hear.) Also, before our 30-mile return trip from my Mum's place in Allentown, Carly and I tried out our brand-new stretching routine for the first time. (That's right: I'm forcing Dan and Carly to do 'em with me! No pointing and laughing while I struggle with my inflexibility!) I glowingly savored each one of those thirty miles as absolutely pain-free in that particular knee region.

And now I am off to stretch again before I fall asleep. Doctor's orders!