"I can't believe I waited this long." That's what I tell friends who ask about my recent knee replacement surgery. Having dealt with joint pain most of my adult life, it's simply remarkable how much of an impact it has made to have that constant companion go away.

So how did I get here? It would be amusing to tell a story (as suggested by a friend) of past football glory, making a last second touchdown to win the big game, only to be taken down by an errant tackler, but alas, none of that would be true. I did hurt my knees playing sports, but it was nothing more dramatic than a little tearing of cartilage during some activity.

This was in the 1960s when doctors would slice open your knee, remove the offending cartilage with a scalpel, sew you back up, put your leg in a cast for a few weeks and that was it. My knees never were quite the same after that, but I got by reasonably well.

I didn't realize until much later that my knees were on an irreversible downhill slide that I was accelerating with my active lifestyle. For at least three decades I ran almost daily, took part in long-distance races, competed in triathlons and biathlons, rode mountain and road bikes, and skied like a maniac. I liked to stay in shape and enjoy life.

Over the years, the remaining cartilage between my upper and lower leg bones was eroding. There was ever-growing pain during and after activity. I was buying ibuprofen in Costco-sized containers.

Finally, after I ran a half-marathon in Spokane, my right knee finally had enough. I could no longer run without extreme pain. It became difficult to get serious exercise.

Skiing, my favorite activity, was so painful that I could only make a couple of runs before it was time to quit and hit the bottle the ibuprofen bottle that is. Of course, some beer also helped.

Naturally I gained weight. Now I couldn't burn off enough of the calories I had previously consumed without penalty. Extra weight makes the knees even more painful, and so the downward spiral goes.

Over the years, there were a series of visits to doctors and physical therapists, X-rays, MRI scans, a $600 knee brace, various painkillers, unsuccessful efforts to lose weight, and wasted money spent on worthless miracle cures.

My orthopedic doctor said to me, "You will know it's time for a knee replacement when you just can't take it anymore." I couldn't take it anymore, and it was time.

Having the good fortune to live in Pullman, where Dr. Ed Tingstad has his practice, I was able to get the finest of care. Tingstad is among the most respected orthopedic surgeons in the region. He serves as team doctor for both the University of Idaho and Washington State University so he sees a lot of knees.

The Pullman Regional Hospital is small-town friendly, staffed by caring, competent people, and equipped with state-of-the-art technology. It even has room service for meals—no more rattle of the breakfast cart at 5 a.m.

It's not simply a matter of showing up one day and getting a new knee. First you have to be cleared by your dentist in case there are any lingering infections in or around your teeth.

Infectious organisms are a big worry because they can spread through the body and set up shop at the site of your knee surgery. You also have to see your regular doctor for a checkup to make sure that your heart and other bodily systems are capable of withstanding surgical stress.

Then there are preparatory visits to the physical therapist. There, you are assigned a series of exercises to help ready your appendage for the upcoming challenges.

All this preparation gave me lot of time to reflect on what was about to happen. I sometimes would lay awake at night thinking about having part of my leg bones sawed off and replaced with a chunk of chromium steel. More than once I questioned my sanity.

The day finally arrived. I was thoroughly examined for any lingering health issues and then prepared for surgery. It all went very smoothly and according to a carefully planned routine.

In surgery, the doctor and his assistants open the knee joint and prepare the bones to receive metal parts. Essentially there is a large ball attached to the upper leg bone, the femur, and a sort of socket is attached to the lower bones, the tibia and fibula.

The socket is padded with a special plastic layer, sort of like the cartilage that comes in an original knee.

After I was returned to consciousness the hospital staff wasted no time getting me moving. That afternoon they had me sitting up and then standing with a walker. Each day I was pushed by physical therapists to go a little farther.

One of the things that was emphasized was the use of painkillers. Doctors have found that keeping pain below a certain level helps people heal more quickly. Get above a certain threshold, and it's much more difficult to return to a manageable degree of pain. There's a good deal of pain the first few days, but the drugs worked well.

By the fourth day I was ready to leave the hospital. The test for that was being able to bend my knee to a sharp angle, walk using crutches, and go up and down a short flight of steps. I was motivated and reached those goals quickly.

Doctors' orders called for six weeks off work, nor was I allowed to drive. Physical therapy was a daily routine. I was advised to take my pain pills before each session. Good advice.

Even though the sessions were painful at first, with persistence, movement gradually got better and easier. The goal is to get the knee to have a range of motion from zero degrees, meaning straight out, to 130 degrees or better when bent.

After six weeks and my graduation from physical therapy, my doctor examined my knee and pronounced me ready to return to work. By that time, I had stopped using crutches or a cane. I could walk with a normal gait and with no pain. The only thing that feels odd is the slight clunking the mechanical joint makes when I walk.

My friends and co-workers were all astounded that I was not having more trouble. Some folks apparently take longer to heal than others, and some who have gone through this have had lingering problems.

For me, recovery has been a matter of motivation. I want to go fishing this fall and to ski again this winter. I'm so confident of the latter that I already have bought my season pass.

Next spring, I plan to get my other knee replaced.

This time I'll know what's in store and have no second thoughts at all about doing it again.