Jason vs. the Cold and/or Flu, Round 2

I sympathize with Wile E Coyote sometimes.  Poor dude just wants some fried chicken.  The machinations that unlucky fellow has to pursue just for some RoadRunner-flavored KFC are pretty extreme.  I remember one time the dude had a lasso waiting in the road for the RoadRunner.  As he was backing up, he realized that he was back off a cliff and was falling.  As he fell, the lasso latched onto a rock on an outcropping.  Thinking the outcropping could hold him, but miscalculating the length of the rope, he ties the other end of the lasso around his waist.  Unfortunately, he has more rope than luck, and hits the ground at full force.  Dazed by either the impact or the miscalculation, he tugs on the rope, pulling the rock free from the outcropping.  Poor Wile E. Coyote is flattened by it.  No RoadRunner McNuggets for Wile E. on that day, my friends.

Over the better portion of the past 3 weeks, I have been Wile E.  I won't retread what I've already written here.  This will instead carry on from that, to my experience since then. 

I've known for awhile that October was going to be a pretty stressful month for me.  Every weekend was planned to the hilt months before, with no downtime.  Add to the top of that the normal life stresses that arise, things like broken laundry machines, and children that think meowing to their teacher is hilarious.  Let's just say I've been both dreading and excited for October for quite awhile.  This past week and weekend were really the apex of the month, everything now seems to be on the downward slope.

Making it worse, is fighting off this lingering malaise I've been sentenced with.  The shortness of breath and general fatigue, combined with complete loss of voice and disappearing/reappearing sore throat have been very hard for me to cope with.  I'm not a very sick person, generally.  I can't remember any time in my adulthood we're I've been sick any more than a day, or perhaps a day and a half.  The last time I got the flu, I woke up ok, was feverish by 5pm, went to sleep at 8pm, sweated it all out overnight, and woke up totally fine and none the worse for wear the next morning.  That's the type of illness experience I'm used to, and I fully expected this to be the same way (which you can pretty much tell by the way I finished my last blog entry).

So I ended the last blog entry by saying the next day I would absolutely be starting the next week of the couch to 5k program.  I was actually thinking I was over the illness.  I was true to myself.  My willpower was intact, and, even though feeling pretty weak overall, proceeded to pull out the treadmill, set it in front of the "Who Killed the USFL" special on ESPN2, and banged out the complete workout. 

Wile E. had cast out his lasso.

I did ok.  I didn't push as hard as I normally do, and I made it through.  As I did my 5 minute cooldown walk to finish the workout, I could feel my legs starting to fail.  Not lactic acid cramping, they were really starting to feel like they were shutting down.  I finished the cooldown, shut down the treadmill and went step off to unplug and put it away.  As my foot reached the floor, I had no strength in it.  I folded up, like an accordian in slow-motion.  I had enough in me to control my descent.  I laid on the floor, half on my side, half on my back, for probably 15 to 20 minutes.  It was so hard to breathe.  I wasn't having a heart attack or anything, I was just so TIRED.  I was able to get up and finish my nightly routine, but I felt so different than normal after a workout.  I didn't have that feeling of accomplishment.  I'm not sure I had any feeling.

Wile E. had just backed off the cliff.

That was last Tuesday night.  I finished up my nightly routine (shutting off all the lights in the house, locking doors, etc.) and went upstairs to bed.  I had a long week still ahead of me, several projects at work all reaching super-important milestones at the same time, a HUGE photography assignment on Saturday, a Halloween party after that (which we still didn't have costumes for) and AOP's paintball outing on Sunday to prepare for. 

What I didn't anticipate overnight was my lasso catching that rocky outcropping.  Hell, I didn't even realize that I was falling.

I woke up heavy.  what I mean is that, my body felt like it was solid stone.  I could hardly move.  My head was swimming, my throat on fire, my voice completely absent.  I was dazed.  And evidently, I pulled on that lasso good and hard.  When I stood up, the rock hit me.  I was instantly confused, unsure of where I was.  I was so fatigued, I was ready to go back to bed.  Instead, I think due to panic more than anything, I was able to pull myself together.  I got to the shower, and that helped.  A bit.  I got some breakfast.  I ate alot.  I didn't eat well.  It seemed to help.

I was totally unprepared for a sickness like this.  I can't even really call it a sickness.  Just a general fatigue.  I made it through the rest of the week, barely.  Even completed the milestones and did OK with my photography project.  And paintball was a blast.  But I had to make a sacrifice to make these things happen.  I ate terribly, piling on calories as fast as I could.  It was the only thing keeping my head above water, keeping me from falling asleep.  But, perhaps even worse, I stopped working out for the week.  I completely put the running on hold.  I had to.  I couldn't have done more than 5 minutes during that time.  In one of the paintball games, I had to run about 60 or 70 yards at one point, which I've been doing for 3 weeks without a problem.  During the game, though, I was heaving hard, even getting a little light-headed at the end of the run.  I even broke it off a little early.  It was pitiful.

But, honestly, I think it was necessary.  I think I may have learned a little something about myself.  I've been pushing myself for this goal.  Pushing myself very hard.  Maybe too much.  Maybe, trying that treadmill run while my body was still fighting off infection was a really bad idea.  I have to think so.  I felt so poor after that.  I'm only now, a week later, back to feeling almost normal.  My voice isn't still completely back to it's normal dulcet tones.  (My wife may disagree on the use of 'dulcet' as the descriptive there)  I'm still getting fatigued relatively easily, but I'm not swimming in that fog anymore.

Maybe, every now and then, the body needs to reset.  Maybe it needs to pack on some calories to help ward against invasion.  Maybe my body really is smarter about itself than I am, and I should listen to it.  Maybe strengthening of will should always walk in line with strengthening of self, instead of surpassing it.  Maybe stress really does affect one's health and well being in pretty serious and tangible ways, a thought I had always discarded as a notion for people weak of mind.

Tonight, I have a bowling date, which should be a good indicator of where I am.  If I can go through that without fatigue issues, maybe wednesday I'll be ready to continue the couch to 5k program.  I have hope.  And a greater sense of self and my body.

My will shall shape my future.  I need to let my sense of self shape my present.

If I want to get me some RoadRunner McNuggets.