I am not happy that I am home right now. It is 8:30 a.m. Saturday and I should be in Central Park warming up for a 10K race that starts in 30 minutes. I should be leaning against a tree for support while I stretch my calves, having an internal debate about whether I should just try to use the port-a-potties so I don’t get caught in an awkward situation later on in the course. I have been drinking a lot of water the past two days, so I’d likely convince myself to just try even though they really gross me out. Initially I was hydrating myself for the race, but now I’m practically hooked up to an IV of Vitamin Water because I’m sick.

I started feeling icky Thursday night. My throat was scratchy and a coworker guessed allergies (which would make sense, as I’ve been outside a lot lately, running in the park to prepare for this race…which would have been my first 10K). I couldn’t sleep Thursday night, but I went to work on Friday because we were closing an issue and it’s one of those unspoken rules that you don’t miss work when we’re shipping. So I made tea and added honey. I drank free Diet Pepsi from our fridge. I ate a lot of carbs because that’s all I was craving. I warned people that I was cranky. I almost fell asleep at my desk. I actually asked to leave early, and I never ask to leave early when we’re shipping.

I thought that if I could just go to bed early Friday night, I’d be able to awake refreshed enough to still compete in the race. I even picked up some allergy meds — the drowsy kind, which always knocked me out as a child. In my head, everything would still work out. I would be hydrated. I’d be loaded with carbs. I would be refreshed. I’d ignore the sore throat and power through (I’d read an article a few months ago that exercising when you’re sick can actually be good for you).

But the whole refreshed part didn’t happen, thanks to all the hydrating and getting up every 90 minutes to pee. After I decided that I just needed to let it go and stay home, I looked at my phone only to realize that I had never actually set my alarm the night before. The world was obviously conspiring against me and this race.

So instead of my weekend filled with exercise and errands and productivity, I embraced that I needed to take it easy. I didn’t have the brain power to tie my shoe laces, not even the eye strength to watch a movie. I was in a vegetative limbo of contemplating how much of an incline I needed in order to breath against my ability to still be able to sleep. I even attempted willing myself to feel better, thinking in my head that I was fine. It works for a few seconds. After taking a nap shortly after waking up, I felt a little more coherent. I treated myself to new books (which is a big deal, as I am an avid New York Public Library user and my bookshelf is already overflowing). The rest of the day, I stayed in bed, devouring my new books, pausing only to e-mail my mom how much I loved The Middle Place (she was the one who’d introduced me to it by sending a video of the author reading an excerpt. We both want to be her friend).

No matter how logically and rationally I approached my health, my body had other plans. And instead of fighting what I was really feeling, I just gave in. Which didn’t turn out to be so bad. I’m not even sure any more what I was even fighting against.

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