Sure, sure.
There was unanimous agreement, even from me, that the smart thing to do given my influenza epidemic of one, would be to skip the race this weekend.
I did after all have a fever of 102.2 degrees on Tuesday. But it broke that night and while I continued to hackingly cough like somebody paid to add ADR sound effects to a cough commercial, I was better each day.
And really, once the fever broke, I think we all secretly suspected we knew how this story would play out.
Of course I drove down to Carlsbad this morning to run their marathon. I’m no worse off than I was last night, albeit I still have an occasional coughing fit that in the movies would imply I have consumption and by Act III I’d either be in a desert sanitarium or I’d be six feet under. That’s second only to the headache in Act II that means I’ll be dead of a tumor before the credits roll.
On that cheery note…
A runner’s high? Wound up with a 3:25. Not bad for a panic in the streets Patient Zero.
