They say the body is at its weakest when it is tired. Stress levels rise, energy dwindles and those nasty parasites find a host. They dive in and treat your body like a roadside motel off the state highway.
The good part is those unwanted guests will move on. But the bad part is they will go when they damn well please.
Actually, I don't know if "they" say that at all, but it sounds right. The reason why it sounds right is because one night I stayed up way too late, didn't get the proper amount of rest and then the next thing I knew, I was coughing and wheezing and squeezing my temples as hard as possible with my fingertips.
I blame my kids. Yeah, that's right I said it. I know they're little and are unwitting victims of every germ, virus and mutant strain that passes from snotty nose to hand to mouth as the veritable bacteria frappes that they are, but whatever. They made me sick. It wasn't the other way around.
How do I know? Well, I guess I don't. I am neither a physician nor have I visited with a medical professional during the past six months1]. But I am damn sure that I would have been properly rested and strong, thus making me less susceptible to injury and ailment had I been in bed at 5 a.m. instead of trying in vain to help a little boy with an ear infection fall asleep. That's no easy task based on what we know about the human ear. That is where we seem to find our balance or equilibrium, if you will, and if that delicateness is disturbed the entire system falls apart.
So any time the little guy put his head onto the pillow, all the fluid and garbage floating around in those narrow canals floated to-an-fro and clogged up pathways for other important signals. As a result, the poor kid was up screaming and I was up just trying to help him keep it together, which is about all anyone can do when spectating at an old-fashion ear event. Sympathy is for suckers.
As a result I picked up a headache and a chest could/cough that is more annoyance than illness. The baby brother got the coup de grace - a double ear infection, as they call it in the biz. Combine that with a stuffed nose and the baby doesn't know whether he's coming or going.
Nevertheless, I've been curiously lucky enough to get in my workouts despite the madness at the house. Except for Monday, when I was simply flat-out whipped from sitting with the kids all night and day, I was able to get out and put in the regular amount of training that has become the norm over the past few weeks. In fact, a few of the days I even went out twice.
How about that?
That's a funny thing within itself, I have to admit. Though I never revealed it anywhere else, my guideline for training was to do two weeks "on" and one week "off." During the so-called "on" weeks the plan was to pile on as many miles, hills and whatever else I could and see where I was at the end of the week. For an "on" week, there is no ceiling. However far I can go, that's the workout.
There are limits, of course. My recovery time is different than the good runners in the country simply because I don't have the support of a sponsored athlete. I can't get a daily massage because there is work to take care of, bills to pay and the agony of an earache to rubberneck. Plus, massages cost money. So do shoes, and food and drinks and ice. That means more work on top of work, which makes me no different than anyone else...
Aside from those two-a-days, of course.
Anyway, since I was last heard from here, the work has been steady. So too has the rattling in my chest and the pounding against my temples.
The self-indulgent running stuff is here The dentist doesn't count, does it? If so, everything is ruined. I went to the dentist a few weeks ago. Everything looked good, I was told. Crooked, but clean.