The past week I’ve been sick as nausea took hold of me, spun me around (which inevitably made me dizzy), added a good dose of fever and left me clinging to the bed like it was the only thing I wanted to take into the afterlife with me. Each morning I would wake up and, hoping that I was better, get up only to be put back in my place – a hot mess on the edge of the bed with multiple blankets attempting to make me feel as hot as I was.
Thankfully the weekend came round and with that, my unwanted visitor left and I was capable of acting more like a human.
Of course, being the being that I am, I thought it was a good idea to go swimming on Saturday (you know, to ease into it). I also thought it was a good idea to attempt a rather hard brick on Sunday, but obviously I’m not quite ready for that. I finished both sessions – not with a lot of heart, but definitely finished them.
And like Juls, I loved the feeling of sweat. The knowledge that I had done something. Unfortunately I should probably have seen it as a sign that everything wasn’t quite alright and this morning I woke up with a familiar feeling. I’m not clinging to the bed (yet), but I should probably learn to take it a little easier when coming back from illness.
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