Kris is sick. I am tired.
It’s 5:38 on a Saturday afternoon, and we’re both in bed, ready to sleep. We may not get up until morning.
Kris started getting sick in the middle of the week. “I always get sick after our trip to Sunriver,” she said when she first began to wheeze. “And you always get sick before or during.” I had a severe allergy attack two weeks ago (about when the magnolias were blooming), which was when she first noted the pattern.
Kris stayed home sick on Wednesday, but went to work on Thursday. She also went to her Excel training on Friday. When I picked her up from that class, she was a sneezing whining mess. “I feel awful,” she said. “Take me straight home.” She went to bed early last night.
This morning, I ran ten miles. Our starting point was just a mile from Rosings Park, but it took me twenty minutes to drive there. Because the Willamette River divides Oak Grove from Lake Oswego, it took me far too long to reach my destination.
I bumped up a pace group today, moving from “no target time” to the four-and-half-hour goal group for the marathon. (Ugh. Lousy sentence, but I’m not editing it.) Our first mile was flat, but miles two, three, and four were all uphill. (And downhill on the return, of course.) As usual, I started poorly, but really felt good by mid-run. My last mile was ragged, but I think I’ll improve with time.
“I’m starving,” I told Kris when I got home. I showered and changed so that we could go to the Canby Garden Show.
“Hurry up,” she whined. She was still feeling sick.
“Can we stop at Burgerville?” I asked. “I’m starving.”
“What did you have for breakfast?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I don’t eat before I run.”
“That’s stupid,” Kris said. “What would Pam say?” (Good question. What would Pam say?)
“It’s not big deal,” I said. “I just eat after.” But by mid-afternoon, it felt like a big deal. When we got back from the garden show, Kris and I both took a nap. Then, while Kris continued to sleep, I went downstairs and drew a hot bath. After eating a raspberry yogurt and some beef jerky, I climbed into the tub and soaked for twenty minutes. Half an hour. An hour. Two. Mostly, I slept, luxuriating as the heat of the water soothed my tired muscles.
Now I’m upstairs in bed, writing this entry, forcing myself to keep my eyes open. Kris hasn’t left the bed since two o’clock. She is sick. I am tired.