In my initial panic to not let Beat know how frightened I was, I stood up quickly and mumbled something about being fine. Surprisingly, I was actually able to put weight on my leg. I stood still for another minute or so, absorbing the pain, until Beat climbed back to check on me. "I fell on my knee," I admitted. "It really hurts. But I think I can use it."
Stumbling down the mountain, I was surprised I could bend it, but it was still sore. Then I fell again. Owwww! I cried, but it actually came out as more of a whimper. I was still so scared. There was no way of knowing what I had done. But with pain like that, it couldn't be good.
We dropped into another narrow canyon and found a cool, flowing creek at 2,500 feet elevation, next to a beautiful camp site overlooking the sea. My knee felt ... not just not bad, but almost great in comparison to how it had felt in recent weeks. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have strength in both knees. It was inexplicable, but Beat speculated that perhaps I had a bunch of scar tissue from the initial injury that finally broke apart in this second blow. Or maybe some band of tissue had been out of place, and then snapped back into place. Since I never knew exactly what was wrong, I have no sense of what might have fixed it. But I felt like the sitcom character who throws out her back, only to have some unknowing friend give her a big bear hug and snap it back into place. Like accidental Rolfing for the knee. A double negative somehow makes a positive.