Day 85: Still Off the Road and Wrestling the Cold

I woke today at 6am, which felt like an insult considering I hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms with sleep during the night. In the fog of early morning, I stumbled downstairs and attempted to coax myself into existence with a bagel and a coffee – the traditional offering to the gods of consciousness. It didn’t work immediately, but I persevered.

As I sat there, blinking at the wall and questioning whether time was indeed linear or simply a cruel joke played by clocks, it became increasingly obvious that there would be no running today. Again. Breathing currently feels like a negotiation with my own lungs, and a cough – that great usurper of peace – has started making itself known.

Now, I know this might sound dramatic – perhaps worthy of fainting onto a chaise longue with a hand to the brow – but truly, I am fine. Just not the sort of "fine" that includes voluntary long-distance running. The idea of lacing up my trainers right now feels about as likely as winning an argument with a doorframe – and I’ve tried both in the past.

A Day of Not Recovering

What I should have done today is rested. What I did instead was "help" mend the shower. I use quotation marks not because I didn't help, but because the definition of help should probably be expanded to include things like "offering moral support while holding a screwdriver" and "accidentally making things worse before making them better."

In any case, the shower is back in working order, and I am now consigning myself – quite happily – to the sofa. That’s where you’ll find me for the foreseeable future: wrapped in a blanket, drinking more coffee, and taking each day as it comes. Or at least as it staggers in, coughing.