As it turns out, I wasn't being paranoid yesterday when I thought I could feel the first symptoms of a cold. I didn't sleep very well last night, because my throat was getting more and more sore. Today I can officially say that I have a cold. A tiny one, one that's barely noticeable, a case of the sniffles, but a cold nonetheless.
I've had such tiny colds before. Sometimes they've gone as fast as they'd come. Other times they've turned into full-blown Godzillas of a cold. Coldzillas. So I'm not taking any risks. I'm eating my Strepsils. I'm drinking my water. I'm eating oranges. But deep down inside I know that it doesn't matter so much what I do today. What matters is what I've been doing the last few weeks. How I've been eating (badly), how I've been sleeping (badly), how hard I've been working (and working out) (hard, on both counts).
Now only time will tell if I can run Kungsbackaloppet tomorrow.
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