I woke up this morning to my usual Thursday routine. Get the kids dressed and teeth brushed, make breakfast, pack lunches, get them to school and then head to physical therapy.
I arrived back home around 10:30 dreading the 9 miles on my training plan. When I woke up this morning the temperature was 54 degrees but by 10:30 is had dropped at least 15 to 20 degrees and the wind was howling. I had no desire to run in the heavy wind.
I made up my mind to do my miles on the treadmill. It was just after 11:00 (I planned for an 11:30 start) when I sat down to eat my pre-run fuel of a peanut butter english muffin and banana when the phone rang. It was Jack’s teacher letting me know he wasn’t feeling well.
She explained that Jack was lethargic, and clingy and “just not himself”. She said that he was itching his eyes “which seem a little red” and “he wants his mom”. I explained that there was no reason for him to be at school if he didn’t feel well and that I’d be right there to get him.
By the time I got to school Jack looked like Will Smith in Hitch.
Seriously it really wasn’t much of a stretch. He was breaking out in hives right before my very eyes. His ears were as red as a fire engine, he had welts on his face and belly and his face was clearly swollen. Worst of all, he was sad and looked pitiful.
Guess what folks? Sick kids don’t care about marathon training. My 9 miles quickly flew out the window. Even though you never want your children to be sick, there is nothing like the feeling of cuddling a child that just wants their mommy.
Guess what else? Marathons don’t care about sick kids. Even though I wouldn’t get in 9 miles, I had to get in something. I settled for 3 lackluster treadmill miles after George got home from work.
After 2 doses of Benadryl, Tylenol (which broke his fever) and a 3 hours nap, Jack seems to be good as new. I hate that he had to suffer even one minute; it totally broke my heart. I wish I could have traded places with him.
Maybe that means he’ll think of me as I’m suffering my 26.2 miles and offer to take my place. Come on, it’s possible, he’s experienced.
Ok fine, someone just hold me on the couch.