Tomorrow is the big day. The big run. The thing I’ve been training for quite seriously since early January, beginning with an 8 km snowshoe trek up the side of a mountain in minus 30 degree weather. (That was fun…) My last run was on Sunday, a lovely if somewhat sticky mid-morning jaunt to the end of the Leslie Spit. I decided to forego a run early this week, as I figured that helping Kim schlep pottery all weekend counted towards some sort of workout. No problem, I thought. I’m ready for this.I’ve even run the distance once before. I know I can do it. I’m pumped.
And I’m sick. Here’s a picture of me taken at the show on the weekend, slogging through the last bits of Granatstein’s history of the Canadian Army and rather enjoying it, while unknowingly incubating a virus. There were a lot of sneezy, coughing people at the Distillery this weekend. (I’d like to blame Prince Charles, but he came by a day later.)
Yesterday morning, Kim mentioned that I wouldn’t stop coughing and asked if perhaps I needed my ventolin. I hadn’t noticed. So I took my puffer, mainly to appease her, and continued coughing. About 12 hours and many puffs later, I was drinking black coffee in a steamy shower hoping my lungs would cooperate because I didn’t much relish a trip to emerg. The coffee and steam did the trick. And in the middle of the night, it became apparent that the asthma episode had been kicked off not by poor Toronto air quality, but by a cold. What a pisser.
Now, I understand that there are more important things, that I shouldn’t whine, that I’m not really sick, and that I should be thankful because god knows there are plenty of people who wish they only had a cold and were missing a stupid race. I know. You’re right. But I’m not feeling very magnanimous right now.
It reminds me of when I was a kid, and I’d always get sick before big, exciting events. Like the time when I was 15 and I landed an acting gig on that old ’80s sitcom Hangin In. When it was time to film, I came down with a wicked case of strep throat. I am still hoping to go tomorrow, see how I feel, and give it a whirl, if possible. After all, if I could film four days with a fever and the feeling of having swallowed razor blades, I should be able to run for a few hours with a cold. That is, if my lungs and Kim let me.