Tuesday, January 18, 2005

You give me fever

I'm feverous. Flushed cheeks, shivering-sweating cycles, achey. blech. One of the least charming things about me is that I am a whiney bitch when I don't feel great. Generally I have damn near perfect health--I don't usually get sick, injured, tired or hung over--and I don't understand that other people don't function this way. I inadvertantly dismiss other people's ailments as signs that they are wimps. But wrapping myself in hypocrisy, I just can't function when my body isn't working properly. Delightful, I know.

I realized last night that all of my symptoms that made me feel crappy during and after the ride were not going away. I was supposed to do work that I had been ignoring all weekend, but couldn't uncurl myself from my shivering ball of pity to even try it. This morning I had two major debates:
1. Would I go into work, or call in sick? I had a motion to finish/file and an interview to prepare and conduct. These factors made it more important to go to work, but also more tempting to stay home. [I have decided that I will definitely use my sick days even if I don't actually get sick--why should sick people have all of the fun?] and,
2. How would I get to work? Would I ride or take the train? I answered this question before I actually knew whether I would work--of course I would ride. There is nothing appealing to me about feeling like crap, coughing and having a dripping nose while helplessly waiting for transit and then packing myself into the train with a hundred people who will soon hate me. Besides, I know my tendency to ball-up and wallow, and riding with traffic out in the cold would certainly beat that out of me, for at least a little bit.

I rode to work and felt better almost as soon as my feet hit the pedals. I thought I was cured, but then an aggressive car proved me wrong. A car with two women, about my age or younger, honked angrily as they sped by me. I couldn't hear over the horn what the passenger was yelling out of her rolled down window, but it didn't seem to be encouragement. I did what is almost instinctual--but probably not wise--and tried to catch them at the next light. I pulled down my balaclava and put my mettle to the pedals. At first it seemed like I would be able to engage in a little 'educational conversation' with these two bitches, but then I completely ran out of energy. Apparently the fever depleted my energy reserves and my legs refused to maintain the pace. ggrrrrrr. Instead of being triumphant and confrontational, I was defeated, having done nothing but triggering a new sweating/hot flash session . I sure showed them.

Work was hectic and I garnered many sympathy/toughness points for being there at all. I do think the sympathy points were converted stupid/crazy points when people saw me leaving in my helmet.

I felt like I was moving at a pretty good clip, for my condition when a single speed flew by me. I usually don't get passed--especially now that it is cold and the roadies are hibernating. Several more single speeds passed me in the next few blocks. I wonder if there was some sort of event--because they didn't dress like messengers, nor were they carrying any bags to indicate commuters. Hmmmm. Anyway--it didn't make me feel very happy about myself, because those guys were seriously moving. I had a better chance of catching the aggressive car this morning than pacing these guys.

OK, my fever has spread to my typing and now I am just plain babbling. The End.

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