I may or may not have called the Swedish Centre for Disease Control to come over in their hazmat suits and disinfect our flat. They may or may not have barked at me to stop calling them every time someone gets a cold. That is unimportant. What is important is that it is day 3 of J's house arrest and I'm getting antsy.
|This brilliant photo by mecredis|
Last night I thought I had something in my throat. Something scratchy. This morning I SNEEZED. Once. I've been taking all the necessary precautions not to get ill, of course. I've been crawling on the floor to avoid the virus particle cloud that's floating at about J's height. Eating lots of garlic. Washing my hands before picking my nose. You know, everything the government recommends.
So, as much as it is possible when you share a bed with a sick person, I've been doing everything in my power not to get infected. I've even skipped the gym (a.k.a. disease nursery) this morning and exercised at home instead (ok, that might have had more to do with laziness and the still-fresh memory of last Wednesday's traumatic experience than anything else). I'm 11 km away from breaking my monthly distance record (which, coincidentally, is the length of the run I'm joining AIK for tonight) and my training has been going so well! Why change this winning strategy?
Another thing threatening to put a BIG spanner in the works is (and I'm going to write with really small letters now, because if I write with normal-sized letters it will make it true) a strange sensation of tenseness in my left foot, that may or may not be my imagination and may or may not resemble the plantar fasciitis tenseness I've had before in my right foot. This time, running is not to blame. This time, I'm convinced it's skiing's fault, so I'm putting that particular activity on hold for a few days and see how my foot feels. No, staying off skiing for a while has nothing to do with the fact that Monday's last ski lesson was a disaster and I couldn't learn how to turn and I fell so that I wouldn't fly off a cliff and onto the motorway below and I pouted and crossed my arms like a little girl and swore I wouldn't go skiing again for a long, long time.