I'm sitting here, looking out the window. I did 3 miles this morning. Big whoop. After recovering from CDiff last month, I got a cold. Just a cold. I guess. For he past 2 weeks, when I've tried to go out and do a run, I've doubled over with coughing. Fucking coughing. It's my nemesis.
At what point do I simply give up?
At what point do. simply say, "I'm destined to be sickly and coughing for the rest of my life. The end." ?
After recovery from Cdiff, for three glorious weeks I was working my way up to running most then mot of my workouts. Then I dipped into a petris dish. I bought a cold. Just a cold. I've been drowning ever since. Coughing and choking, peeing my pants, and trying to walk 2 miles without coughing and choking. I have a pain in my side. I think I may be developing a hernia from all he coughing.
Will I ever be not sick?
Will I ever be normal?
I'm beginning to thing I won't. I'm beginning to think I should accept that my life, as I had planned it, is not what I thought it would be. I will not be an ultra runner. I will be sickly.
that is not what I wanted my life to be.
I wonder if I will need to redefine myself as someone else. Someone who is sickly and does some stuff. I hate being this person, the whining person who has excuses and reasons. I'm not that person.
Fuck. I feel hopeless.
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