Carrboro to Pittsboro

After barely one mile, my left knee started to buckle. Blame it on a tight IT band, the 6 hours of yard work I did the day before, or last September’s shoddy surgery meant to get me running again (it didn’t). Whatever the case, all I could think about was failure. I freaked out, a hitch in each step. I wasn’t as concerned about turning around and limping home as I was about the big picture. What if my knee says no? Merely glancing at this prospect devastates me. I stopped on a wide and shady shoulder to reassess. In my…