I’ve been feeling sick all week. I had some great runs despite being sniffly, sore-throated and achy, but it all came to an end today.
Last night I had the shivers and I suspect I was running a fever. But I didn’t check because I didn’t want to know. I had an 18-22 miler on my schedule today.
I had a restless night and debated pushing the long run off until Monday. Finally, I decided to turn off the alarm set for 7:30 am. If I felt better, I’d go run, but it meant missing yoga class. Yesterday’s yoga class was spotty at best, so it wasn’t too big a sacrifice.
I got up at around 9:30 and felt a bit better, ate some breakfast, drank coffee and left for the Y. It’s in the low 40s, rainy and with flood warnings around here, so my unwell self wasn’t keen on running outdoors today. Maybe the only less dumb decision I made today.
My first 12 miles felt fine. Not great, but solid. Then the wheels started coming off. Miles 13-15 were tough, and I took an unscheduled hop off the treadmill to get some plain water and splash some on my face. I didn’t feel like I was cooling off effectively despite that I was sweaty.
The next five miles were at best, crummy. Everything ached. The arches of my feet felt tight, which never happened before. It felt like a large monkey (not quite a gorilla) was hanging out on my chest. I’d really wanted to get to 22 miles, but my body was having none of it. I got off the treadmill at 20 miles and sludged my way home.
I’m now sniveling and sneezing on the sofa and my husband is helpfully tossing DaQuill liqui-gels at me. My brilliant son suggested that since I was feeling sick, I probably should have scaled back the miles some more. I told him I was stubborn and stupid — a great combination.
Now excuse me while I wipe the snot off my iPad. At this point, the only thing running well is my nose.