My scratchy throat was accompanied by an upset stomach on Sunday afternoon. After a slippery six-mile run that should have been postponed from the morning until the afternoon when the day inched above freezing, I didn’t move much; I showered and sat on the couch in front of the TV. Later, we went out for an hour or so to get a few errands done; when we got home I headed straight for the couch, this time laying under a blanket, in front of the TV. I dozed a little but rallied enough to eat the fish, rice and asparagus Bill had cooked. I couldn’t refuse but I didn’t eat seconds, a sure sign I’m not feeling well.
I still use a pocket calendar, it usually has an appointment jotted down in each little box designating the day of the week. I had commitments Monday and Tuesday during lunch but no firm plans for the evenings. I decided to skip spin class Monday night, came straight home, changed into sweats and lounged in my bedroom most of the night, emerging only to heat up escarole and bean soup I had in the fridge.
I got up and ran this morning, only three miles; my stomach was better but my throat’s still scratchy. The sneezing started later in the day, the occasional cough did too. I wouldn’t say I’m sick; I would say I’m fighting something. For the second night in a row I came home straight from work. I heated up some leftovers, made a cup of hot chocolate and am back in my sweats, back in my bedroom, relaxing.
I hope this is the worst I’m going to feel, hope I’m on the upswing. I’ve got six miles to run in the morning, with a friend I haven’t seen in months, and don’t plan on skipping it. I plan on getting another good night’s sleep, another full eight hours. This, like not going out after work, isn’t the norm. But, I know my body, know when it’s time to rest. This is one of those times.