I just hit the wall so there’s a really good chance that this post isn’t going to make any sense. I hate being sick. I was feeling better and then BAM! I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. The baby girl isn’t ready for bed. The kitchen isn’t clean. There’s basketball to watch, and I’m totally spent. I don’t care if any of that stuff gets done. LMJ can stay up and watch television all night as far as I’m concerned. We’ve got enough saved on the DVR to keep her entertained until tomorrow morning. As long as I’m in bed by 9pm (it’s 8:45 right now) I don’t care.
With the exception of the runny nose and coughing, I had a really good day. I got a load of laundry done. I read the baby girl some stories. I watched the first four episodes of The Sopranos, and I finished it all off with a steak dinner. The steak wasn’t as good as it was last week but it was still a steak so it was pretty good.
I haven’t exercised since last Monday and I’m starting to freak out. Did I mention how much I hate being sick? It’s not so much that I’m missing the actual exercise, which I am. It’s that this bacteria or virus or whatever is taking me backwards. I’m not just missing a week of gains. I’m having what amounts to a three week setback. I’m feeling better than I was two days ago, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s almost April and the end of July will be here before I know it. I tried to rationalize the lost week with the excuse that my tricked out backpack isn’t here yet so I couldn’t get started on my new regimen with bike riding mixed in. It’s all crap. I blew up during the River Run and I’m determined not to have that happen in my triathlon. There’s no place to rest in the ocean so I better be ready.
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