July 1970. I am told to run as fast as I can to deliver a note to the PE teacher in the playing field. In case you think that I am making the next bit up let me assure you that this sort of route was not unusual for schools in the South Wales valleys and safeguarding children was still several decades away. I set off across the yard, down the concrete steps, through the rusting iron gate, over the road and into the cemetery, climb over the gap in the stone wall and onto the steeply downhill gravel path to the playing field. Gravel and running children don’t go well together and the inevitable happens. My right knee looks like a squidged tomato so I hand over the note and stagger back to the school. There isn’t a plaster in the first aid box equal to the task so a spare teacher drives me to Casualty.
Using what looks like a Brillo pad the nurse scrubs away at my knee. Earth, gravel and blood cover my leg, my skirt and the paper sheet on the trolley. “I haven’t quite got it all love,” says the nurse, probing the wound with her fingers. “There’s a bit of stone in there I need to get out – oh, hang on, that’s not stone. That’s your kneecap.” I pass out and wake up with lots of stitches, a pot of unidentified white paste that my mother has to apply nightly and a thick white bandage that stops my leg from bending and stays in situ for 3 weeks.
All this works because apart from an ugly purple scar across the front of my knee, an occasional feeling of wiggley-ness in the joint and a hatred of Brillo pads, I recover. Like most people I have occasionally tripped, slipped or otherwise fallen and every time, my right knee has literally taken one for the team. The only thing it asks in return for always hitting the ground first is that I don’t do things that require twisty movements – swimming, for example, is a complete no-no and cycling is best avoided but long distance walking will probably be fine. Won’t it?
March 2026 and I need to motivate myself into getting (and staying) fit. I find that Monmouth Rotary Club is hosting the Walk The Wye Challenge in aid of Velindre Hospital. I know lots of people who have had to avail themselves of Velindre’s expertise so I sign up. I decide to gently introduce my right knee to what will be required of it by doing some training.
8th March
I start with a slow, gentle 8km that ends in our local country park. Easy. I reward my right knee with an ice cream.
17th March
I’m on my way home from Aberystwyth and get off the bus in Carmarthen to walk out to Llangain. This is flat but double the distance of last week at 15km. I stop thinking about my right knee when a man comes up to me in Llangain and demands to know my opinion of the Wales Coast Path signpost opposite Johnstown Leisure Centre. “It was pointing the wrong way,” I say. “I took no notice.” “ ‘Na fe!” he exclaims excitedly. “Months I’ve been telling the council but not for what they’ve done anything with it! Pointing back to town it is! Tell me, what made you ignore it?” “I’ve got a map and a compass and I know how to use both.” This reply sends him into raptures and as the bus pulls up, he says it has been a privilege to meet someone who knows how to walk properly. On the journey back to the railway station my right knee glows with self-satisfaction. Or possibly the start of arthritis.
24th March
I get off a train in Pyle and walk home through Kenfig Hill, Bedford Park and Parc Slip Nature Reserve. 20km, all flat. There is no complaint from my right knee probably because I allowed it to have a sit down and a cappuccino at the cafe in Parc Slip.
31st March
I am overcome by the need for a new baking tray so walk to TK Maxx in Talbot Green. 23 km later and my right knee is a bit grumpy. That might be to do with the fact that I get a banana rather than an ice cream in the Co-op on the way home. Also I don’t find a baking tray that I like enough to buy. Disappointment all round.
7th April
I catch the train to Port Talbot and walk home. The A48 is tedious until Kenfig Hill and from there I repeat the route of 24th March but with the addition of a hot dog at the cafe in Parc Slip. 25km .
14th April
Train to Carmarthen to try out the new Tywi Valley route. I walk to Llanarthne and back. I tell my right knee that we’ll have a Solero or Cornetto in the village while we are waiting for the bus but it turns out there’s no shop. When the bus arrives it has no passengers. I comment on this to the driver who says that no-one ever catches this bus and she’ll be stopping at the National Botanic Gardens to have a wee whether I like it or not as she doesn’t finish her shift for another 6 hours and although her bladder control is considered by her fellow bus drivers to be excellent, she doesn’t want to chance today being the day it is sub-standard. I understand why there are no passengers.
23rd – 26th April
I am working and walk 93km over 4 days. My right knee is deeply unhappy. My bank account on the other hand is smiling contentedly.
30th April
My last training walk is 24km downhill, flat, uphill, steeply uphill, flat, undulating, gently downhill, steeply downhill and flat. My right knee says it wants total rest between now and the big day or it won’t guarantee us getting back to the finish line before the tea tent closes and the ice cream van departs the field.
To be continued after the 10th May when this might or might not happen….
