Running with the gait of a duck with a rupture, I managed two miles. My knee didn’t like yesterday’s eight miler, though not the knee I injured last year in Glasgow, puzzlingly. Maybe I put extra stress on it, trying to protect the other. It was a beautiful evening. A few late strollers enjoyed the passegiata on the seafront. I puffed and moaned my way past them. Who said running should be pain free and pleasant?