And here I am, trying not to be discouraged. Trying to trust in my training and level of fitness and know that a few days on the bench (or couch, or bed) will not ruin three months of training.
My daughter is sick, too. She and I are alone this weekend, the boys off on a camping trip that didn't seem like a good idea for the two patients.
Throughout my life, my lungs have been my Achilles heel, with colds turning into bronchitis or pneumonia overnight. I ran one marathon a few years back with the lingering remains of a cold settled deep in my bronchial passages. I never want to do that again.
It has been my experience that continuing to run as illness eases has been the best way to knock it out of my lungs. But after four days, I have not yet dragged myself out the door in my running shoes. My only venturing forth has been the grocery store for soup and juice and, last night for dinner, an adventurous three block trip for our favorite tacos.
Instead of my 16 miler this morning, I taught Genevieve the secret to decoding Roman Numerals. We've watched "Singing in the Rain" in bed, painted our toenails pink and purple, I've brushed the bed tangles out of her long golden hair, we've eaten comfort foods and soup. This morning I woke and opened a book--a rare luxury! Genevieve and I have shared something and added to our common language. We have together discovered the wonders of tissues saturated with aloe and lotion, our cold medicine bottles are lined up side by side on the back of the sink, and we have both spent much of our days in pajamas.
Those parts inside me that drive me hard enough to train and finish long races also ride me pretty hard when they catch me "slacking." And slacking is what this feels like. But it also is a joy and a sadly too rare experience to spend these quiet, present, moments with my lovely seven year old daughter.
