It took me four and a half years, but I finally got Covid. I didn't even realize it at first, waking up on a Tuesday morning in a hotel room in Trier, Germany and feeling like my mouth was dry. I got up, walked over to the table near the window, remember preparing to pour a glass of water but starting to feel very nauseous. The next thing I knew I was coming to, laying on the floor of the hotel room under the table. I wasn't fully conscious of what happened and I got up again. The next time that I came to my wife was yelling my name. She kept me from standing up immediately and tended to my head wound. I'd hit my head at some point when I passed out (not sure if it was the first or second time). I was drenched in sweat, to the point that the floor was slick. Finally, I got back to bed and began hydrating, as best I could. I was still feeling both nauseous and very woozy. While there's still a lot more to this story, I didn't test myself for COVID-19 until a day or two later, when it hit me that I might be having unusual symptoms. Of course, by then, my wife had symptoms of both nausea and excessive mucus production. It was COVID-19. Of note, the morning before I passed out I ran 2 miles to pick up our rental car. My heart rate was a little higher than normal, but otherwise, no major signs.
Here I am, ten days after passing out from COVID-19. I intuitively know that my recovery will need to be slow and cautious. No high heart rate work. In fact, I went for a walk today for about a mile and a half and found myself walking briskly, and my heart rate had come up to 110. Nope! I slowed down and got my heart rate back down to 90. Not only do I need to keep my heart rate below 100 for the next few weeks, but when I start running again, I'm thinking of recalibrating to a heart rate under 120. If I have to walk, then I have to walk. Knowing how my body responds, this process could take a few months and patience will be paramount. In many ways, my recalibration is once again reminding me of some blogs I wrote fifteen years ago, after I crashed my bike in Perth. I felt like my life had been going too fast and my shoulder and hip fractures necessitated my slowing down. Hmmm. Might be the same story once again.
As a reminder of our own human frailties, I found out yesterday that a triathlete friend whom I'd gotten to know over the past decade, and who was near my age, died recently. She was a fiery personality, prone to dropping an "F-bomb" with regularity. She was also someone who said exactly what she thought, when she thought it. I always looked forward to running into her at the pool and sharing training stories! As I'd moved a year ago, it was unlikely that I'd run into her again, but I will miss her and miss knowing that she is no longer spicing up the pool lane! It's also a reminder to me that our time is short. And so I find myself writing today. What do I write about? Training. I guess that should tell me something.
