The monumental effort it took to open my eyelid a crack should have forewarned me that this was a tough start to a new year. The cracked eyelid let a margin of very painful light into my brain. Suddenly I realized that the air moving over my alveoli inside my lungs hurt. My head was a powder keg filled with pressure and every move and thought was like a match that threaten to blow it all the way back to its Maker. It hurt to think thoughts.
Now I should have expected this, since four of the five of us are sick and hacking up pieces of our lungs in the form of coughing. So far only Jake is immune. But I can’t believe how long it took me to get from the bed to downstairs . . . where I just had to stop and rest once I got there.
I know you will be convinced that I am a lunatic after confessing this, but I forced, and I mean forced myself to set up the trainer and get on the bike, even though I was sure I was going to hurl at any moment. While I don’t really enjoying working out that much, it almost always makes me feel better (endomorphins are powerful critters) and in the end I am glad I did. Not this day.
I made it for about 30 minutes and that was the end. I was sure I was going to die. When sweating does not help you, you are genuinely sick. There is no doubt. I dragged myself back upstairs and took a quick shower, got dressed, fell/shuffled back downstairs and decided to rest for a moment on the couch. Next thing I know, it’s three hours later and the whole family is up.
I felt marginally better, e.g. thoughts in my brain no longer caused actual pain, but still . . . if I could have rewound time back to the last week in 2006, I would have. But thank the Lord, today January 2nd, I can open my eyes all the way without a laser beam killing me, and my head is only 4/5 full of gunpowder. There is hope for 2007.
Now I should have expected this, since four of the five of us are sick and hacking up pieces of our lungs in the form of coughing. So far only Jake is immune. But I can’t believe how long it took me to get from the bed to downstairs . . . where I just had to stop and rest once I got there.
I know you will be convinced that I am a lunatic after confessing this, but I forced, and I mean forced myself to set up the trainer and get on the bike, even though I was sure I was going to hurl at any moment. While I don’t really enjoying working out that much, it almost always makes me feel better (endomorphins are powerful critters) and in the end I am glad I did. Not this day.
I made it for about 30 minutes and that was the end. I was sure I was going to die. When sweating does not help you, you are genuinely sick. There is no doubt. I dragged myself back upstairs and took a quick shower, got dressed, fell/shuffled back downstairs and decided to rest for a moment on the couch. Next thing I know, it’s three hours later and the whole family is up.
I felt marginally better, e.g. thoughts in my brain no longer caused actual pain, but still . . . if I could have rewound time back to the last week in 2006, I would have. But thank the Lord, today January 2nd, I can open my eyes all the way without a laser beam killing me, and my head is only 4/5 full of gunpowder. There is hope for 2007.
2 comments:
I'm glad you're feeling better! You didn't sound that great yesterday, but you are oh-so-the-man for getting on the bike anyway. When I grow up I wanna be like you!
No kidding, anonymous! I never in a million years would have gotten on that bike. But I'm a lazy, shiftless, ne'er do well. :)
Post a Comment