Just when you think you're strong and powerful - invincible almost - pumping out the 12 mile return run to Richmond like a well-oiled machine, a nasty little virus can come along and remind you that your're only human after all...
It started just before my Sunday run two weeks ago. I felt distinctly unwell. Couldn't eat breakfast. Stomach doing somersaults. Brain a bit off-centre. But I went anyway. It wasn't the nicest run ever despite the sunny weather. The last four miles were just to be got through. Get through them I did, but it was no fun. Monday, my schedule brought a little light kettlebell workout. That didn't go well either and I packed it in after 20 minutes. Tuesday, with a snotty nose and coughing up nasty gunk, I ran 10 miles along the canal with Julia (when we finally found the canal - a challenge in the pitch darkness of Hertfordshire and with neither of us having good enough eyesight to read the map). Wednesday we did 6 miles, with me in a similar condition to the previous day.
Thursday I collapsed onto the sofa. Thursday night, I lost consciousness on the bathroom floor (somehow having managed to stand my electric toothbrush on the side of the basin before I fainted). It didn't feel like an emergency, but I thought I should ask someone who knew something what I should do. I phoned 111. They got a doctor to call me. The doctor got the paramedics out. An hour later I'd had a full check-over and the conclusion was that it was a combination of a nasty little virus and low blood pressure (something I'm prone to).
Friday and Saturday elapsed with me moving between sofa and bed. Coughing like a miner. Barely eating anything. Sunday and Monday, I was able to stay awake for long enough to put myself on a diet of poached eggs and Midsomer Murder repeats. I didn't have the energy to speak to or even message anyone.
By Tuesday, my brain had started operating again. But my body was lagging a long way behind. It wasn't until Saturday that I woke up feeling better. I put my training gear on and jogged 2 miles around the local park. Shattered and off food again on Sunday, I had to admit that the nasty little virus was still alive and well.
Today, I managed an anxious 3.5 miles. I felt afraid of fainting. But if I didn't go, I could see my confidence being further eroded. I have a long way to go to get back to where I was. And I know I have to treat the nasty little virus with respect. But it's a start.
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