Yesterday I had the sneezes. Terrible sneezes. All day long. But, because I’m working on a new project (a play that’s been brewing in my brains for a few years now and is finally ready to come out I think) I was desperate to keep writing and not retire to the couch and feel sorry for myself which I would have done under normal circumstances.
By 4pm I was beat so I stopped writing and decided to run the cold out of me. A risky undertaking to be sure as this can only result in one of two outcomes.
Either you do indeed run the infection out of you, or you send the germs flying around your body much faster than a normal tv-watching, couch sitting sick kid would, and bring on the infection full force.
At least that’s what my grandma always told me when I was little and I now use it as medical dispensation when I’m tired and can’t be bothered running.
Maybe I’ll just walk, I thought, slipping on my running gear just in case.
Nah, I feel better than that, I’ll run. But I’ll do the shorter distance instead. 7 k’s not the full 10.
So I set off on my plod, the snot up my nose managing to stay there for the moment, and realised I wasn’t plodding, I was running. And I felt great!
Buggar it, I thought, I’ll do the whole ten k’s. And I did. And this morning I awoke with not a sneeze in sight. Not a fat head, not a fever, not a cough or an infection.
Which just goes to show you that it’s not an apple but a run a day that keeps the doctor away.