Just because you’re maranoid, it doesn’t mean the world is not out to get you during your marathon taper.
With only nine days to go to the Tralee Marathon, I’m sick. I have whatever version of the cold bug is pinging around Dublin these days.
The day before yesterday I could feel myself a little drained and slightly light-headed. I made for the paracetamol and liquids, but in vain. Yesterday morning, when I woke up to get ready for another day down the coalmine, my head was reeling, my throat was rasping and I hadn’t an ounce of strength in my body.
There would be no coalmining yesterday – nothing of anything except medicine, fluids and bed-rest, interrupted only by the necessity to get up and watch the previous night’s recording of Match of the Day.
I feel a bit better today. I made it back to work, for one thing, and got from nine to five without falling into a heap. It’s the weekend now, so I’ll rest up and focus on getting back to full health. My main concern is to make sure I don’t get a chest infection – after previous marathons I’ve been susceptible to bronchitis, and getting another blast of it now would put an end to my hopes of running in a marathon next weekend.
Of course, it’s frustrating to be sick and unable to run so close to my marathon. But the enforced rest might be a blessing in disguise – I’ll be able to catch up on my sleep and avoid the risk of overtraining. A few days without running won’t cost me my fitness, especially since my substantive training is already done.
By the end of this weekend I hope to be fully recovered and back on my feet again. Otherwise I shall wreak my vengeance by hopping from rush-hour bus to train and spluttering on every commuter in Dublin.