Well, I went out on Friday for one last long run before the Endurance 50.  It started raining around 4 miles, and didn’t let up for the next 14.  In my usual peculiar fashion, though, I actually sort of enjoyed it.  Pushing through dreadful circumstances is oddly exhilarating.  I ran pretty solid 10:15 miles, good enough to make me very happy, and guardedly optimistic about my ability to run the whole 26.2 with Dean.

Saturday I rested my slightly stiff legs, but then, amazingly, I felt fantastic yesterday, and I was getting ready to go out for a short run, but my husband stopped me.  He pointed out, reasonably, I suppose, that I really ought to conserve every last little speck of energy, given how little I’ve trained.  So I didn’t run yesterday, either.

Just as an aside, I went to my writing class in the afternoon, and came to an interesting conclusion.  This is the first fiction class I’ve done that really approaches the craft from an emotional perspective; that’s why I signed up for it.  I felt that I needed to push through some intellectual barriers to get some real depth to my characters.  Unfortunately, it’s working.  I’m finding the class really emotionally difficult–draining.  It’s making me uncomfortable, but I’m determined–again–to push through the hard stuff to get to what I really want to do.  Are there perhaps interesting parallels between different parts of my life that I usually compartmentalize pretty neatly?  Hmm . . .

Anyway, so I came home from class exhausted, with a terrible headache, and went to bed, assuming it was stress.  WRONG!  I woke up about 1:30 with fever and chills and all the attendant aches and misery.  I felt a bit like my eyeballs might explode.  It took me nearly an hour to figure out what was wrong, but I finally took some Tylenol and went, more or less, back to sleep.  I’ve pretty much been in bed all day (my son was also home today, although he’s congested, not feverish, so I think he’ll be going to school tomorrow); the Tylenol keeps the head to a dull roar, but I can’t seem to get the fever below 100.

And my daughter is convinced that Halloween is the most important day of the year, and her expectations and adrenalin, coupled with my lack of interest, are making for a really hideous evening at our house.

Guess I’m not running a marathon tomorrow . . .