I have a confession. On Friday night, after visiting a small bakery in Philadelphia’s Italian Market district, I ate a tiramisu and a cannoli — and I haven’t worked out since Tuesday. Have I freaked out yet? Not even close. Let this be a lesson to everyone; it’s okay to take a step back every now and then. I promise, you’ll survive.
Getting back into my routine following Africa has been a lot harder than I ever imagined. First, I was jet lagged for a solid week and could literally not keep my eyes open passed 8:30. That’s giving myself too much credit. Really, 8:20 was the record.
Then, just as soon as I started to feel like myself again, I developed a lovely sore throat/fever/cold that lasted until yesterday. On top of that, I had promised Noah to help him with personal matters in Philadelphia over the weekend and I felt too guilty to back out. Was I in my best shape? Not even close. But with a little rest, sleep, soup and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (did you know they still play marathons of that show??) I was able to suck it up for 24 hours. Of course, by the time we got back to our apartment in New York City, my fever was back and the aches started up again. On Sunday, I didn’t leave the apartment.
The obvious outcome of this most recent virus: no exercise and a few too many Italian sweets. It was a matter of timing more than choice; but, the real choice was in enjoying the treats despite my sedentary week.
Fortunately, I’m happy to say that — despite a cough, stuffy nose and a feeling of slight exhaustion from a six-day battle with germs — I am feeling like I’m at least on the road to becoming myself again. This week, I really really really really really want to turn it around with a few healthful dinners and solid morning runs. But of course, this will all have to begin tomorrow. For now, I allowed myself to sleep in, wake up slowly, and continue to recover. If I learned anything over the past week, it’s that my body was definitely speaking to me. I think it’s time I listened.
I have another confession for you: It’s taken me years to get to this point where I feel comfortable enough with myself, my life, my mental state of wellness to simply get over these types of days and weeks without a sense of dread or guilt. I think a lot of it has to do with the way I discovered running. When I did, it was a release. It was an escape from whatever I was running from and, when I couldn’t, I more or less freaked out.
I’ve been in my “happy” place for a long time now.
(Ya, life is okay.)
I have incredible friends, an amazing family filled with nephews and a too-pretty niece, and a wonderful fiancé (who made sure I stayed on top of my ginger ale and matzah ball soup intake yesterday).
(I COULD EAT THEM.)
We go to Hilton Head for Thanksgiving on Tuesday of next week, where I can wander and run the beaches and enjoy the sun.
We’re spending New Years in the Outer Banks with two houses full of rowdy friends.
(See you soon, OBX!)
We’re going to Miami in January for MLK weekend.
(I pretty much packed yesterday.)
My bachelorette party.
His bachelor party.
And then, on April 5th, we get married.
I have so much to look forward to over the next six months of my life, so forgive me if I’m not stressing out about a week on my bum with the world’s most delicious cannoli.
What goes through your head when you’re sick and unable to workout or eat the foods you typically nosh on. (Fact: Kale simply does not taste good with a fever.)