I am terrible at being sick. Ask anyone who knows me. Not only do I stubbornly refuse to do things that would be in my own best interest, but I am also (I'm sorry for the language, but there's really no other way to phrase this) a stone cold bitch when I am sick. It's terrible because I know that I shouldn't expose my bitchiness to others and I would honestly just prefer being left alone with no one but my cats to verbally abuse, but when you have asthma issues like I do and also have pneumonia, being alone is not a smart option. Even I will admit to that much.
It's weird because I would never tell any patient of mine to do the things I do when I'm sick, but I somehow rationalize it to myself. Like telling myself that one day off work is sufficient for pneumonia and an asthma exacerbation. Or that I don't need to use my nebulizer every 4 hours because it makes me feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin. Or the biggest one of all: that I can still work out when I'm wheezing like someone's chain-smoking uncle. Not smart. Really not smart. I tried to work out on Thursday, just 2 days after I went to the doctor. That ended quite badly. I did indeed demonstrate some modicum of good sense and stuck to walking and the elliptical after that disaster, until today. Then I decided I needed to get back to running 8 miles right this second. Yes, it would have been much wiser to slowly build back up to 8 miles. But I think the combination of not really working out at all (or at least not anywhere even close to what I normally do) and feeling like I've eaten way too much because of the steroids (even though looking back at my food log, I've actually done pretty well) caused me to panic a little bit. About my weight obviously (although weirdly enough I actually lost a little weight this week....my body continues to remain a mystery to me), but also just how it felt to sit on the couch a lot and rest. Rationally, I know this does not mean I am doomed to slip back into my old ways. But emotionally, it's a whole different story. How I "lived" before is so frightening and just downright unacceptable to me now that I completely flip out over anything that reminds me of that life or anything I think would lead me down that road again. It makes me act a little cray-cray (yes, I did say cray-cray) sometimes.
Running 8 miles this morning was stupid. Not only was it pretty much the crappiest and slowest run ever, but my lungs have been paying for it all day. I lost my perspective somewhat. I guess I still have a bit of that "all or nothing" mentality, but at least I'm calling myself out on it. Running 2 or 3 miles instead of 8 for a little while is not going to kill me, or even start me back on a bad path. Likewise, resting more than normal does not mean that I am a lazy couch potato. I am definitely on the mend (thank goodness!), but I have got to give my body a chance to get back to normal. And I have got to learn to give myself a break! Sometimes it's not all about pushing beyond your limits. Sometimes it's just about knowing and respecting your limits.