Monday, Jan. 17, 2005
A cold, posted at 4:47 p.m.
Epiphany in Baltimore has moved to epiphanyinbaltimore.blogspot.com I returned from NYC and really wanted to head over to the gym to start working off the beer, paella, and pecan pie that I ate this weekend. I don't feel that great, but I head over to Bally's anyway. I jump on the eliptical machine, feeling weak but ignoring that fact. I'm on for 90 seconds before I'm out of breath. Sweat begins to form, but it doesn't feel like sweat; instead, it's like someone is faintly poking my forehead with a needle. It's uncomfortable, but I trudge on. At two minutes and forty-seven seconds, my mouth starts to taste metallic, like I'm sucking on a dime or microwaving a saucepan. I feel nauseated, but I tell myself it's just because it's been a little bit since I visited the gym, and I just escaped the so-cold-it's-painful parking lot on a sprint. I trudge away, trying to find a worthwhile passage from Life of Pi to use for my ENG I baseline, but I'm distracted by my breathlessness, by the painfulness of the sweat trying to escape onto my brow from deep below my skin. I realize that Life of Pi, despite having such short chapters, might not be the best choice to excerpt from because, well, Richard Parker is a tiger, not just some other character being characterized. I'm distracted by my lightheadedness, the soreness of my legs, the pain in my forehead, where no sweat has escaped yet, despite drinking nearly half a gallong water on the way to the gym.I give up at the 5:47 minute mark. I was going so slow that it's hard to tell I stopped. A guy asks me if I'm alright because I moan a little and hold the back of the machine for balance. I smile and don't answer save for a little nod of the head, and being putting back on my coat. The nausea continues to creep up and the cold hasn't escaped my bones, while the soreness seems to be tugging on all my muscles as I quickly walk outside.
I make it outside, where the vomit starts with an urge to spit, then erupts into a sudden hot burst through my esophagus. I'm doubled over and spitting and making those deep throat sounds that I've had roommates make so loudly that I can hear them on different levels of the house and I have no idea why they do it. It goes quickly there in the parking lot, without making a scene because the arctic wind is whipping and I'm sheltered by my car door. I'm so cold that I feel like I'm gripping ice cubes, and I hurry back into the car, away from the wind but not the cold. I drive very slowly on the way home, but foot jammed up from cold and ache. I make it inside, where my thermostat, though set at 70 degrees (a rarity, as I can count on one hand the number of times I've turned on the heat this winter), is cranked up another few degrees. I'm completely freezing and still in my winter coat, toiling over the midterm I have to give tomorrow that I've been saddled with because, well, I let it happen and I savor having control over how my kids are evaluated.
I'm sore, tired, and cold, except for my forehead and eyelids, which burn to the touch. I think I might have the first cold of winter, 2004-2005. Screw working out, cleaning the house, or heading to Ikea to buy a bookcase that won't fit into my car anyway. I'm going to try to nip this in the bud and head to bed as soon as I print this 14-page test out and think of one more question to write about "Gil's Used Furniture Bought and Sold."
Is my classroom clean enough to call in sick tomorrow? Do I really want to do that on an exam day? Will I have a choice?