It has been two weeks since my last entry, and 11 days since my last run. It was a beautiful late night 15K, involving approach by a potential zombie, one short pit stop for air conditioning rehab, my first successful use of gel chew thingamabobs (so delicious!), and the first time in a long time that I arrived on my front porch and thought, wow, I might actually be able to do this thing in San Francisco.
And then, two days later, I awoke with the fires of hell bottled inside my throat; laryngitis. I've been speaking in part mouse-squeak, part man-voice for a full week now, and running has been out of the question.
In my quest to restore my health, I have consumed many things. Herbal remedies I can't pronounce from my lovely great aunt, tea, honey, a full 12 pack of root beer (the fizzing tastes like relief), ginger ale, iron and B12 supplements (boss says I just need a cheeseburger to make everything better), mutter paneer delivered by my father, cake and promotional Hershey's chocolate drops delivered by my brother, leftover codeine syrup from my bronchitis days, and in the highest volume: Halls of all flavours, left thoughtfully on the coffee table by my roommate.
Oh Halls. We have such a complicated history together. You're the partner in a relationship I love to hate. You get me to sleep, but you also leave a disgusting residue in my mouth. You suppress my cough for a moment, but when you are done with me I fear my throat is in an even worse condition than before. Despite our ups and downs together, however, you really have always been there for me, waiting conveniently at Shopper's Drug Mart, and so I forgave you your shortcomings. Until this round.
Peeling open a particularly shiny-looking pack of lozenges, I noticed new blue writing on the individual wrappers. Upon closer inspection, Halls was telling me to "March forward!" and "Don't try harder. Do harder!" Do what harder? Cough? I was instantly reminded of my outrage upon being given a box of Dove chocolates, when I discovered that inside each foil wrapper was a sappily patronizing "inspirational message" for women, such as "Shopping makes everything better!" Barf.
My friend Halls had turned on me. "Let's hear your battle cry"? I can't, I don't have a voice. Or do they mean the teary kind of cry, from the razor blade throat pain? But with my anger weakened more recently by my (incredibly) slowly mending body, I decided to answer one of Halls' calls to me. It suggested that I "impress myself today". And so, last night I built my mountain of pillows for vertical sleeping, and set out on an epic quest to rest without the aid of codeine, or even Halls. How did it go? 'Sleep' is a relative term in this case - 'cough while in bed' is perhaps more accurate. This morning I awoke, and just as Halls suggested, I was thoroughly impressed; by my body's ability to crave a single REM cycle more intensely than my roommate craves my last piece of chocolate birthday cake in our fridge.
Training is going brilliantly, in case you were wondering.
