OTF Gave Me the Plague
Note: It took me a week to pull this post together, so the timelines are a little wonky — don’t judge me.
Last week, one of my best friends moved to Seattle. Maivien and I have known each other for ten years, so I obviously was over the moon that I finally convinced (tricked) her into moving to The Emerald City.
Because I’ve lived up here for two and a half years, we haven’t been able to see each other that often, but it was like no time had passed as soon as B and I picked her up from the airport. Especially the part where she somehow convinced me to be social, active, and out in the world.
Fast forward approximately 12 minutes into her being a Washingtonian, and I was enrolled to try an Orange Theory class with her. And in case you’re a hermit (like me) and don’t know, Orange Theory (OTF) is a torture chamber with loud music, orange lighting, and sweaty (and smelly) people. If you’re imagining season one of Jersey Shore, you’re not too far off.
I’m just kidding (kind of.)
In all seriousness, I enjoyed the class far more than I thought I would. And by enjoyed I mean they didn’t actually have to use the AED on me, and I felt pretty good about myself after. (Especially after they swapped out my armband heart monitor for one that was actually working. I mean, I knew I wasn’t going all out, but there was no way I was flatlining…) We patted ourselves on the back, skipped the bottles of wine they had on a table in the lobby (what?!), and skipped (limped) into the drizzly Seattle night.
The next day, somewhere between yelping for help while trying to sit on the toilet and icing my lower back, I felt something familiar: a teeny tiny tickle in the back of my throat. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I immediately thought it was strep throat or the flu. Might be the remnants of PTSD from this spring when I had the flu twice, and a cold, within a six-week period.
I, being the mature adult I am, avoided Web MD, convinced myself it was probably just allergies from actually being outside of the house, and popped a pack of Pink Lemonade Emergen-C (just in case.)
Fast forward a couple more days of my throat flirting with the plague, and me trying to convince myself I wasn’t going to die, and I was certain. That little tickle had become an eagle talon-like scratch, my nose mimicked Niagra, and it felt as though all my energy had flown out with it.
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of (or experienced) the man cold, but it is brutal. Probably one of the world’s most horrific diseases. Imagine the sound of a very sick, raspy squawking bird calling out — that’s what my whine sounded like. And picture a sloth that had both his eyes punched, buried under a mountain of Kleenex tissues and Halls losing wrappers — that’s what I looked like. And lastly, envision George O’Malley from Grey’s Anatomy after he got hit by that bus and was fifty shades of fucked up — that’s what I felt like. RIP Georgie.
For those that don’t know, this is what it’s like to cohabitate with someone affected by the man cold: Click me for two minutes and forty-two seconds of laughter.
Am I being too dramatic? Probably. Ok, fine — yes — whatever. *eyeroll*
In between checking my tonsils for signs of strep throat every 37 seconds or so (see, hypochondriac) and the continuous stream of cough drops and Gatorade, I continued to feel my energy draining drop by drop and literally prayed that I’d sleep through the night if I took enough NyQuil.
The first few days, I felt like my throat resembled Beau’s tongue — scratchy, prickly, and the furthest thing from pleasant. The sinus pressure (and correlating headache) was monumental and made me incredibly irritable (sorry, B!) And the barrage of the sweats and shivers was enough to make me cry uncle.
Did I mention this was also the second week of my new job?
Alas, by the fourth day, my symptoms had retreated, and I was left with the cough equivalent of a lifetime smoker, hearing in my left ear, and mostly clear sinuses. It was a National Cheese Pizza Day Miracle (seriously, Google it.)
It’s now a week and a day later, because I got tired of writing, misplaced my computer, found my computer, and misplaced my charger — long story short — I’ve been a bit of a cluster for the past week and a half, but am 95% better.
Oh, and I got a B12 shot because I thought it would make me superhuman. Update: It didn’t. I don’t have any more energy, my metabolism isn’t a hair faster, and I still have allergies, so the ROI was phenom.
Moral of the story: If I hadn’t worked out, and rather embraced myself as I am (fat and sassy), I wouldn’t have gotten sick. So basically, I’ll be avoiding OTF like the plague, because it gave me the plague.
Don’t worry, Maivien signed us up for rock climbing this week, instead. Stay tuned! *nervous shudder*