About two months ago, just after having finalized plans for a two-week hike in Europe and purchased the most expensive airline ticket of my life...

My right knee goes.

Any up or down on the trail or even at home on the stairs brings sharp pains enough to make me wince. And I can't put any weight on it.

Uh oh. The Hobbit's been hobbled.

My doc proceeds to diagnose patellar tendonitis.

Great. A matching pair now.

Getting old sucks, don't it.

What to do, I asks?

Knee strengthening exercises, a steady diet of Ibuprofen and laying low (for me that means staying off the trail) for a few weeks should do the trick, he says.

OK, so I do the first two, buy a heavy duty knee brace, and completely skip his third suggestion.

And now, six weeks later, I'm happy to report that I think I'm good to go.

So, three weeks from today me and a friend are headed off to Corsica as planned, bum knees, backpacks and all.

The GR20 Route across the island will no doubt pound the pee-pee out of us with an outrageous 70,000 feet of vertical gain and loss.

But I'm hoping that with the knee braces, Ibuprofen, a modicum of care and good sense (I know that's asking a lot), some duct tape if necessary, and some Corsican beer, we'll make it through okay.

That's the plan anyway.

I'm not big on letting dreams slip away. So I'll drag myself along if I must, but I'm going to complete this trek...