After Tuesday's triumphant finishing of week 7, I merrily made my way to work...only to be suddenly struck down with The Dreaded Lurgy. Nose sniffling, head spinning, throat feeling not only had it recently been sandpapered but that I was chasing it up by swallowing razorblades every time I tried to swallow. The result? Sent home by the bosses with 2.5 hours of my late shift left to go. Hubby-to-Be picked me up, I was home by 7pm and fast asleep in bed 8pm, with barely enough energy beforehand to shuck my work uniform, don my PJS and crawl under the covers.
Hubby-to-Be swears that he thought I'd bought an electric blanket without telling him when he first got into bed, some time after me, only to realise that the heat source was, in fact, me! Honestly, he could, if he'd been so inclined, have probably fried some eggs on my back, I was so blisteringly hot to touch (I don't know anything about this as I was deep in a Lurgy-Coma)
The following day was sort of spent in the blur of sleeping, drinking tea, swallowing paracetamol and nestling on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself and not focusing on the television - don't watch much telly anyway but not the point.
However, feeling more like myself, I risked going back to work Thursday (and having an extra rest day, for my still-tired body to recover a bit more) which passed quietly and this morning I told myself I'd go for my first run of week 8, if only because sweating profusely had to be good for getting rid of any remaining Lurgy Germs and that the cold air was good for killing off any remaining high fever, despite Cecelia asking if I was certain it was a good idea? When I'd been ill enough to be sent home?
"I've been back at work for a day, I can do my run" and stuffed her aggressively into the glove compartment of the car before setting off for the park.
"What a lovely day for a run" I thought, getting there. No sign of rain, the clouds showing signs of lifting, a little bit of mist still lingering over the river that runs through the town "so very picturesque" and thus fortified, I turned on the programme and started off, mindful of recovering I kept a nice slow but steady pace
It was pleasant, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, though had to slow down at 15m42s when my right foot began cramping
"We could just do it as a walk" Cecelia told me, surprising me completely with her ability to get out of the glove compartment when everything else I stuff in there winds up lost for eternity, "you know, because you've had a bad cold and now your foot's cramping. Also, it's bloody freezing out here "
"Go do some jumping jack Cecelia," I laughed at her "the heat's in the exercise"
"I think not," she grouched, ducking into the hood of my jacket again before leaning out to point at something: "Oh hey, look, there's an old man jogging quicker than you. He's old enough to be your grandfather and he's lapping you. We should quit and go home for a coffee"
"Have you noticed he's walking in between his runs? He's probably earlier in the programme than I am. I'm doing it constantly. Without a break."
"You're going to ignore me now, aren't you?"
"Yes. Because I've just passed the 20 minute mark and I only have 8 minutes left. Ah, a great running song just came on. Fa-fa-fa-fa-Fabulous. Come on, sing along, Cecelia!" (she raspberried me instead)
Not only did I finish, but I double rock'n'roll devil horned the old man and he did it back. Awesome run and I feel a lot better for it
I'll add a photo later