A megaton of the flu virus hit me last week. It might as well have been weaponized and loaded on a drone by the gods to make another Job (pun not intended) out of me and see, for their own private and holy pleasure as they compare prayer requests form genuflecting idiots down below, when I would be broken down enough to hung my running shoes. And whether the virus would get the job done. This Flu fucked me up pretty bad. But at first I saw it as a challenge when my nose started leaking and fever set in and I got chills.
So I battled with it and ran feverishly for four days in a row last week. Mind over matter, I stoically reminded myself feverishly in my stubborn mind. I took antihistamines and relied on grit and my fine-tuned system capable of ignoring malaise and difficulties caused by disease. After all, suffering creates character, right? But it seemed it was quietly galvanizing itself and regrouping. It picked a weak spot in my otherwise rugged system: my throat. And so, on Saturday, it asserted itself and my throat got inflamed. My vocal cords were shot and my voice went to hell. What remained was a croak and a hiss and, well, nothing. I could only muster a whisper. And with severe pain.
And so I haven't run since Saturday. I hope I can run tomorrow or hit the Gymn today. I am in Entebbe's Imperial Beach Hotel. It is some grandiose shit. Vast rooms, huge bed. Large windows. Very extravagant. Excellent ambiance but I think I smell bat shit or bird shit hanging in the air. I think they have a gymn. Hopefully I can hit it in the evening and revenge for the last two days. Meanwhile I am on meds. Antihistamines, antibiotics, antiprotozoan, cough syrup and mouthwash. Am a walking cocktail of drugs and biochemicals. I am jacks wasted recuperating ass.