From the streets of Auckland, to Times Square. Rarotongan beaches to a 2am trip to the loo, there they were. Thanklessly doing their job, day after day they tirelessly toiled away.
Sometimes even pulling overtime, the early hours of a Saturday morning getting me to the only two destinations I needed in the moment - the kebab shop and a taxi stand.
Even taking the full brunt of my weight on lino and wooden floors as I once again heeded the calls of "Can we have a horsey ride, dad?" Down to the floor they would go, from kitchen to lounge, suffering the odd bump but still not enough to make me say, "Huh. Those two leg hinges are quite important little bits of kit!"
Along came Thirty Seven, and slowly but surely, the odd niggle here, a twinge or two there, I was aware. Aware that I now had knees that didn't have the spring of their youth, the eagerness to transport me wherever I wanted to go without complaint.
I even had new names for them. Good Knee and Bad Knee.
I started stepping down from higher places with caution, rather than the reckless abandon I was used to. "Jump Dad," the kids would yell from the playground bark.
"No thanks, guys, I'll climb down with my awesome climbing skills," I would answer, "I'm pretty much Spider-Man."
Where once I would swing my legs from the bed, leap upright and stroll off unimpeded, I now took a moment to stretch, contemplate, and activate. Willing those two small spots of me to crank up for another day, and take me to the coffee.
And so I sit here now, 37 years old, finally thanking my knees for years of uninterrupted service, in the hope that maybe a little appreciation will be just what they knee-d to get back into full operation, so I can get back to forgetting about them!
• Don't miss Adam Green and Megan Banks (filling in for Sarah van der Kley) on The Hits Hawke's Bay from 6am to 9am, Monday to Friday
