In my stuffed up shuffle about, I forgot to brush my teeth for an entire day and wore the same sweatshirt for three. My excuse for the sweatshirt is that it’s Spiritual Gangster; cozy and soft with pockets for kleenex. There is no excuse for the teeth.
I haven’t run since Saturday. Week fifteen is not going according to plan.
The rule of thumb for runner’s who are sick is this:
Above the neck run; below the neck don’t.
But what if it is above the head mostly, below the neck a little, with a marathon three weeks away?
Didn’t I predict this in last week’s post?
In truth, anyone could have predicted this. The beautiful blonde germ factories that I live with could have predicted this. Another virus right on schedule.
The good news is that it happened now rather than the week of the race. Any closer to the big day would be just enough to slay me; to make me question life’s fairness and my existence on Earth. A good virus can make me feel very sorry for myself.
The plan for now is to keep up the Emergen-C and Zicam. To keep my muscles from getting lazy, the Manduka will be dusted off for a little bit of Om once the girls are off to school. I will open the windows today (to air out the house) and wipe the place down with a good dose of Clorox. The sweatshirt is currently being washed on the long hot cycle, it practically crawled to the machine on its own. I will work hard to feed my cold the things it needs; antioxidant rich foods to help it recover. I promise to toss the Swedish Fish, steer clear of buttered French bread, and drink more water. Lots more water.
Tomorrow morning I’ll head out for an easy trek around the neighborhood to assess where I’m at. Beginning Friday I’ll attack week fifteen, only five days late. If I run my twenty miler next week, I won’t have lost too much time, just a little from the taper.
Sometimes a bump in the road can sideline well laid plans.
Sometimes the bumps, meted out with a sprinkle of good timing, make the finish even more delicious.