Remembering Sickness

Well, that went poorly.

I've been sick for two weeks now, and I've been trying to tell myself that I would be fine before this weekend. I warmed up coughing, I did strides coughing, and I was coughing 10 seconds before the gun went off.

Ya, I'll totally be fine.

The elite field assembled before me was hard enough without my sickness, and it was just embarrassing with it. As the gun went off the pack started jogging, as elite fields are want to do. I took the lead and went through with pedestrian splits of 63/2:07.


I felt awful. My body was shutting down after 200m and I was fighting every step of the way. I'm upset that the race went as poorly as it did, not because of any poor tactical error on my part but simply because I couldn't fucking breathe out there.

I'm upset that I waited so long for this opportunity and a few fucking bacteria made me run 4:21 (4:03 1500) in a race that was won in 4:10 (4:52 1500). I wanted to go to everyone running and watching after the race and say "guys guys, I was sick. I'm not really that bad."

But I cant.

I also cant be a whiney little bitch about it. It's done, in the past, and I have these hopefully-fantastic antibotics to help me get well. They're having SOME sort of effect, my heads a little wonked out as I write this.

Do your stuff azithromycin. Get me better so I can run like I know I can.