Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Last week, it was my husband; the week before that, my son. I should have known I would not be able to entirely avoid the stupid virus that invaded my household this month. Especially as I’ve been just on the verge of illness with a persistent cough for many weeks already. Still, knowing it was likely coming does not make me any happier with its arrival.
Yesterday was not too bad, mostly just tired, but I could muster enough energy to make a trip to the store to exchange a jacket that was too small for Brian and stock up on some cheap wrapping paper, since I was running low. I now have enough to last another several years, but that short excursion pretty much wiped me out. Today, though, has been worse. I slept (in my bed) until almost noon, and have lost track of the number of times I’ve dozed off while lying here on the couch. I did not even make the effort to get dressed. Right now, I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll just change pajamas and call it good.
It used to be that I would get sick every holiday season—sick on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and not precisely well the entire time in between. There are lots of theories for why that happens to folks: too much time indoors this time of year, too much crowd mingling and germ sharing, too much stress wearing on the body, too many combinations of things that just lead to illness. I’m sure any or all of that is true, but again I say that understanding it does not make the situation any easier to deal with. In truth, it really just sucks, though I am immensely glad to have not been really sick on either of the holidays proper. That does make things much easier.
The thing that really bothers me, though, is that I think at least a good portion of the blame lies with me. I wasn’t sick last holiday season, and I remember thinking it was sort of a blissful experience. But, I was much more focused on my own health last year. I was still actively working on weight loss and better lifestyle choices. Most of that has gone by the wayside this year, especially in the past few months, and I’ve decided it really does make a big difference. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve regained some (too much) of the weight that I lost, and I’ve lost almost all of my motivation to work out. Oh, I still take some small steps to maintain some of my better habits: very little soda, using my fitdesk and stability ball, some lower calorie options that have become the norm for me. But it’s clear that those things are not enough. This holiday bug that has reared its ugly head and bitten me in the butt is proof enough of that. I already knew that getting back on the fitness wagon was going to have to be at the top of my resolution list again this year, but this is like a message from the universe, screaming at me loud and clear, just in case I should forget. As I’m laying here for the next day or so, resting up between trips to the bathroom and hoping that my head does not explode, I’m going to have to make a specific plan, and I’m going to have to figure out a way to ensure that I will stick with it. I know that I can do it; I’ve done it before. I just need to keep reminding myself of the benefits even beyond getting rid of some excess pounds. Like not being sick most of December. Yeah, that sounds like an excellent goal.
