Just call me Marvin.

You know. As in Marvin the paranoid android. Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Life. Don’t talk to me about life. Because if you did, you’d get a mouthful of blue language.

Either it was a virus or a callback to the chronic fatigue syndrome nightmare, but after I did my aerobic workout the Saturday before last, I felt wrong. I finished the workout a bit shaky, just off – and sure enough, by Sunday night I had the headache and the sore throat and that lasted for days. On Tuesday morning I had a major cat crisis with Editor Barney, who ended up in hospital with a life-threatening medical emergency. He’s home again, and I’m feeling cautiously optimistic, but he was a very sick boy and I was pretty much beside myself. Stress and virusy-thing do not good bedfellows make. Last week sucked dead bunnies through a straw. I seem to have nixed the sore throat, and now I’m walking shorter distances at slower speed on the treadmill while doing my best with optimal nutrition. But it seems that I’m not as ready as I thought I was to tackle the higher intensity regimen of the Body for Life program, so now it’s back to the drawing board.

I’m pissed, Roger. I’m really pissed. (Bonus points if you get that reference!)

So there you have it. I’m back to combining writing and research and attempting to find the sweet spot that lets me live the life I want to live, without constantly dealing with illness or injury or day-to-day pain. I’m sick of living on painkillers and spending a fortune at various medical specialists, I can tell you!

Wish me luck going forward. I’m thinking February will be a month of gentle consolidation as I look to rebuilding my health/fitness base before pushing on.

Sigh. And grrr.



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