Looks like it was about this time last year that I came down with the chest cold from hell. Or at least, I thought that was the chest cold from hell.
Let me tell you, it had NOTHING on this year's version. Goodness.
Backing up, I'm still struggling with my running mojo but things have gone reasonably well the last couple weeks, considering. Two Fridays ago I got in a fast 7 miles (as in 58 minutes fast!) with some other PhD students, followed by two GREAT days of skiing in almost spring-like weather. Monday and Tuesday were busy as usual (and my legs were fried Monday, anyway) but I was looking forward to getting in some running during our February thaw. Ha! Wednesday I went out with 2 of the 3 fast PhD students for 3.5 miles in under 30 minutes and then Thursday, it happened.
The disease hit.
It started innocently enough. I woke with a cough on Thursday morning and knew I was in for a long day. It was forecast to be in the 50s but I knew I'd better dress a little warmer since I was clearly coming down with something. I sent a whiny "I'm sick" text to my mom that morning, but expected to make it through the day.
On my way into campus, I stopped for a cup of coffee. I couldn't stop coughing in the coffeehouse - don't you just hate that? I always feel like everyone around me thinks I have the Plague and I always want to explain that it's the transition from the outside to inside air that makes me do that. Anyway. Got my coffee, arrived at my office, sat down to work...and didn't even want to drink that coffee.
That's bad news, I'm telling you. I finally poured the cup out this morning - I don't think I even drank 1/4 of it.
By 10 AM I was freezing, shivering uncontrollably, and knew I wouldn't make it through the day. I found someone to teach my evening class, finished my grading, canceled office hours, and tried to last until my scheduled noon meeting. The second that meeting was over I headed home and hit the couch.
I stayed on the couch until about 10 PM, at which time I moved to the bed. Stayed there until, oh....Saturday. Basically. Friday morning I did get up to go to the doctor. My hips, glutes, and legs were hurting so badly you would have thought I ran 100 miles the day before. Clearly, however, I did not. I was sure this was the flu. The doctor, on the other hand, was not. She sent me home saying it was "justavirus" of the upper respiratory variety, and I just needed to rest and drink fluids.
And so I did, all weekend long.
Today I can finally stand for extended periods of time. I've stopped drinking Gatorade, actually eaten a couple meals, and coffee is (mostly) appealing this morning. I think I'll probably be able to stand for 80 minutes to teach my class..but I'm not entirely convinced yet. I know I'll have to go straight to bed when I finally get home.
But you know what? I missed some of the grossest conditions of the year so far. I mean yeah it was warm and that would have been nice, but everything was so soggy and ugly. That first thaw of the year there's litter everywhere (that had been hidden under the snow) and the only snow left is the piles along the road that are crusted in nasty black road disgustingness. Yesterday we got a fresh blanket a new snow - about 10" worth! Today we're forecast to get up to 3 more inches.
And so I'd like to thank the Justavirus of Death for choosing a weekend of no skiing and ask it to please leave me healthy enough to enjoy this new, fresh snow.