Today is lucky 13.
We had a workout this morning. I didn’t go.
I know — 80% of success is showing up, so therefore, I failed.
I’m sick. Have been for the past three days with some kind of respiratory junk. I’m coughing like mad and am achy. I feel like crap. And I’m exhausted. I’ve been on the run for the past two weeks. Yesterday I cleaned my house until 11 p.m. I am dead dog tired.
The alarm went off at 4:09 and I didn’t answer its call.
Not because I’m lazy. Because I knew I couldn’t do my exercises correctly. I feel like I have asthma — I can only imagine how I would have done while pushing a board.
So what did I do? I slept until 7 a.m. (like sleeping to noon for me) and then got out and ran. And ran. And ran some more.
I felt like crud for the first couple of miles. And then I got into my grove.
My legs were concrete. My lungs ached. I coughed and wheezed. I sweated profusely. In my mind, I was shedding the virus. I was showing it that I didn’t want it into my body. I wasn’t playing around. Sure, no one would accuse me of running fast. But I was running.
I ran 10 miles in all. With a cold. On a muggy May morning.
And then I got home and cut the backyard.
I missed my PLS training this morning. And I still have a cold. But my lungs got a good a workout.
I was out there, in the game and moving forward.
And that’s all that matters.