What does my sporting performance reveal about my character? I think it probably reveals that I am a dainty little fairy in a frilly shirt. And when I say fairy, I don't mean it in the homophobic sense. I mean fairy in the Tinkerbelle, living-under-toadstools, and getting-my-ass-kicked-by-the-pixies sense. And I don't mean Pixies in the Frank Black, Kim Deal, isn't-Nirvana-a-total-Pixies-ripoff-band sense.
What I am trying to say with these lame references and name-drops is that I've been remarkably wussy lately. I've not been pounding out the miles because the Vessel -- my stinking meat-sack -- has been letting me down. While the pace bunnies of my various annual mileage goals zoom farther and farther down the virtual track, I whimper and whine about a sore hip or hack and wheeze from the flu. If it hasn't been one thing, it is another. Stupid body.
So what do I do? Run with the flu? I'm sure some idiots do that. But I don't want to risk more time off work [not that I love work that much but they do pay me] and time not interacting with my family just so I can stay on pace. After all, I have been miserable with this flu, and I find running unpleasant when I am 100% healthy. Why the heck should I combine these two forms of suckage?
But still, I have this little Nike™ poster in my head admonishing me to "Just Do It." Run! Run with your lungs spewing like a pair of phlegm sponges with every stride. Run and batter your immune system as it tries to return you to health. Run in the cold, wet air and catch pneumonia. Run because you bought that new runner's journal and only have two puny little entries in it.
One good thing that has come out of this down time is that I have lost three pounds off my Holiday High of 190 pounds. All that shivering and not eating in bed paid off.
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