I went in early morning to subvert my own augury of doom and make a damned false prophet out of myself.
The room needed a scrubbing so it got that. Good old rag, water, and soap. Spic and span. The good morning sun was still up at seven, so I plunged into Baker field to try out my knee. There's still a bite there somewhere. It just made me pump in some more. I stretched myself all fine and dandy and when I ran, I minded my form. It's different when you run mornings. The sun doesn't care for your cares. I don't think I can go very far with a mad pace. The orb just smiles so luridly serene and you think you're such a fool running like hell on the wonderful earth.
So I ran the way I'm supposed to. At about the fourth round, I breathed to the tune of John Williams' Carmina Burana. Somewhere in the middle, I put in a loop. I made a two minute score last for eleven or so minutes.
The knee did great, bite and all. The test was over. I can climb the mountain again. My sister is coming over on Wednesday, and she insisted I take her. I will. No screw-ups this time. That's my sister with me! Move, mountain, move!
This will happen, I said to myself as I wolfed down seven pan de sal on the dilapidated bench I've come to call lotus-leaf. I drank it all in with the chocolate drink. This will happen.
It will. We will go up early morning. All fun. No doom.