I’m not one prone to getting sick. I’m not a germaphobe I just tend to stay pretty healthy. If I’ve been around someone sick, I usually take some extra vitamins, but overall don’t worry about it. The last three days in the UK, I started to come down with something. I tried to take cold medicine before it really caught me in its grips, but it was too late. By the time Risa and I got to the airport to fly home, I sounded like I had the plague. I probably had half the plane groaning about the sick girl in seat 39D. I had hoped to hit the ground running when I got home, but the sound of my wheezing and coughing, soon made me realize that it wasn’t going to be possible.
Deciding to do the best thing for my body, I rested that weekend, sure that I could kick this bug’s butt and be back on the road and in the office on Monday. I lasted five hours at my desk before I got sent home. Tuesday I only lasted one. Finally, realizing this was out of my control, I went in to see the dreaded doctor. We went through the usual formalities before I asked the doc the important question “Can I start running again”, the response I got was a burst of laughter. It probably hadn’t helped that my voice sounded like a frog and every few minutes I’d sound like I was coughing up a lung. For the first time in my life the doctor prescribed no exercise.
I did my best to follow his advice, but I went back to work that Thursday and since I’d survived the whole day there, I decided to go for a three miler when I got home. It was a pretty pathetic effort, but I finished. Saturday I went out for five miles and made it four and a quarter. I’m terrified of the ground I’ve lost, but at the same time conscious of the fact I’m still battling the cold. This is one of the hardest things I’ve faced since becoming a runner. Mentally, I’m ready to get back out there, but physically, I just can’t yet. Sometimes it’s hard to be patient.