I’ve been sick for 11 days.
I have never been sick for that long! Ever! It’s nothing serious, a bad cold that turned into a sinus infection. Aside from a few coughing fits and one all-nighter because I was frightened I wouldn’t be able to breathe while lying down, I’m mostly fine. Exhausted, fatigued, sniffly, stuffy and annoyed, but alive and on the mend.
The illness came upon me the day after Thanksgiving, and then I barely worked the following week. That
allowed forced me to watch: most of Downton Abbey, all of The Crown, the Gilmore girls revival, two seasons of Parks & Recreation, two episodes of Sherlock, Jason Bourne and Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them. I’m exhausted just writing that list.
Needless to say, my plan of racing a hard 5K on Saturday isn’t panning out the way I had planned. Seriously, running and I just cannot get on the same page here.
But the illness was also therapeutic. I’d been feeling pretty down about things and was having this protracted existential crisis (which is exhausting enough when you’re not sick). All that sick time made me too fatigued to think too much, and Leslie Knope and Newt Scamander lifted my spirits. Also my received pronunciation accent is on point now thanks to my British-themed binge-watching.
My whole life has been this sort of self-manufactured existential crisis after another. I’m getting too old for this. Leslie Knope, a hero America needs, continually fights a losing battle, but never stays down for long. And Newt so eloquently reminded me (while tracking a Erumpent mind you) worrying is just suffering twice.
So the 5K didn’t work out how I had planned. I won’t be able to race it, but it’ll be a celebratory “I AM NOT DYING AND IT’S CHRISTMAS YAY” run instead of a race. No matter what, I’ll be there jingling all the way with a grin on my face.