Ugh. I’m sick. Trying hard to deny it, but there it is: I’m sick.
It’s the kind of sick that sneaks up overnight and drains you of energy. This morning, walking to work, I was pretty fatigued for all 1.5 miles. It reflected in my time—3 minutes lost to my inability to pick up my feet.
On the outside, it’s not that bad. Tiny bit of a runny nose, some sneezing every few hours, a somewhat raspy voice. No one’s noticed it yet, and I hope it goes away before it has the chance to become more pronounced. But as I sit at work, reading and editing, I find myself wishing for 5pm; not because the work isn’t engaging, but because I want my bed. I feel a bit woozy, my mouth is dry, I feel slow, and I have that sick feeling—where there’s something about your body temperature, ticked up; where you can feel systems going into a heightened state, fighting off whatever’s in there.
The best word is off. Or perhaps icky.
My plan is to rest tonight instead of going to the gym for the speed work I had planned on. Instead of going downtown for my weekly appointment tomorrow, I’m going to stay home and, hopefully, be recovered enough to work out in the evening. Even if it’s just a slow two miles, I hope I’m able to do it tomorrow because it ain’t happening tonight. Let my three miles walking serve as today’s workout.
Ugh. I hate being sick.