I had a nice, long weekend in Texas with my bestie only to wake up Monday morning with a sore throat, headache and chills.
I know what you’re thinking, but I already got tested for Hepatitis.
My friend has two kids, and while I normally despise children, hers are actually pretty cool and funny…so much so, that I forgot ALL children are actually cleverly-disguised little germ factories eagerly plotting your snot-encrusted demise.
So, I have a cold. Kind of a weeny cold, actually. I told my husband it’s because I got it from a baby and not a real person. I am sick enough that I haven’t gone running; not sick enough to stay home from work. Which it turns out is the worst kind of sick.
This morning, I pulled the old sneeze-a-gallon-of-snot-into-your-hand-right-as-someone-walks-in-your-office routine. Where you then have a handful of snot and nowhere to put it? So that’s always fun.
Then, I was forced to do manual labor after some people finally discovered some wreckage I did in an upstairs storage room. Perfect timing.
And then I almost cried when I found there was no Sprite or 7-UP in the soda machine. Three whole buttons reserved for Mt. Dew. God hates me.
Ordinarily I use any cough or sniffle as an opportunity to flop around in bed and feel sorry for myself until it’s all played out. But the thing is, I would really like to go running. I skipped Saturday and cut my Sunday long run short after five miles. I won’t even pretend like I had a good reason.
But sometimes you can play a little reverse psychology on your body and trick it into forgetting it’s sick. You want to take a loooo-hot of cold medicine and then pop out for a run right as it’s kicking in. And before your body’s any the wiser, you’re done. Chase with vodka.
Of course, there’s a slight chance of death.
Do you still run when you’re sick? How sick is too sick?
*Yes, I know that’s not how it goes. Read a book.