I didn't run... and the world didn't end

I got sick last week- really sick. I was in Las Vegas for work and I dragged myself through the week. Up at 5 am, I'd be running down the strip, or up in the rooftop gym, with a throat so swollen and sore I could barely take a tiny sip of water. I was so congested that my head was pounding, I was sweating with a fever, I was coughing, and still I worked out every day. That's what I do. Unil Saturday. I was in Maine for the early bird sale. I dragged myself out of bed at 5:30, shopped with my family and friends until 11 and then I came home and laid down on the couch. I didn't get up again that day. I knew my family would dissapprove of me running Sunday so I planned to go while they were at church. Instead after sitting at the table with them for a few minutes, I had to go back to the couch where I stayed again for the whole day. I could manage to stay awake for maybe an hour or two at a time before I needed to sleep again. And yet, I still felt guilty about not running.

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