Out With The Flu

No Orcas for me. I'm kind of bummed. It's Saturday, and I'm sitting around the house, sicker than a dog, a sick dog--I don't get this phrase, "sick as a dog." Maybe it's sic as in sic him! I was really looking forward to getting my butt kicked on the Orcas hills, as an early year struggle and a suitable start to HR training. Unfortunately, two days ago I woke with a sore throat, and it has now gotten to that point where standing is a challenge, that point where you get irritated at how difficult is is to open up medications and you're throwing pills across the room, where just about every little thing is a struggle. I don't know whether or not a 50k was truly impossible, but I feel like I'm in the last 25 miles of a 100 right now, and it's pretty obvious that showing up would've been stupider than stupid. "You're going to catch pneumonia!" Well, it does happen. I mean, my snot is really thick right now, sort of like Elmer's glue, and my voice is not my own, and everyone asks me how am I doing with a sort of worried look. Still, maybe I could've run it. I don't know. But then my stomach wretches every fifteen minutes, occasionally I see stars when I bend this way or that, and it is really cold and windy outside. I suppose I could've dressed warm. Popcorn. Blankets. Movies. Tomorrow will come.