My brother, mother and I set out on the sizzling summer morning of August 9, 1998 for a jog across the Brooklyn Bridge. Mom had always wanted to do that. She was visiting from Maryland that weekend. I remember the date, because we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of my nephew who came into the world later that afternoon.
Despite the warm weather, we stopped in at our local gym for a quick sauna afterwards. Then it was back home for a hot shower before heading into the city to show Mom some of the sites.
We capped off our sun-soaked march around Manhattan by cooling off in a Greenwich Village movie theater to take in Saving Private Ryan. By the end of the movie my left knee was aching badly. When the lights came back on, I could see my leg was swollen from the knee down into a column shape – couldn’t make out my calf, couldn’t see my ankle.