The Crossroads of Sickness and Training

Catherine is sick today. I just got off the phone with her and it sounds like her nose has sprung a leak. I feel bad on a number of levels. On the one hand, I feel bad in the basic general sense of feeling bad, in which the protagonist experiences wrenching heartache over the very suffering of his loved one. Mostly, though, I feel bad because I'm the one who gave her the cold in the first place. She definitely got it from kissing me. Without question. Um.... oops?

But Catherine is clearly stubborn when it comes to the crossroads of sickness and training. Not only is she planning to go for a run tomorrow, but she's got a swim slotted into the schedule as well. A swim, I say! The crazy little such-and-such. Outside pool, crisp, breezy air - and a head cold that would be a lot happier dipping into a bowl of chicken soup than a pool of chlorine. Has this woman no mercy - no sense of self-preservation? Damn you, woman! Damn you!

I did everything I could to try and convince her to take the day off from exercise. I pulled all the punches, took no prisoners in my attempt to cast but a mere glimpse of sanity in her clearly delusional state of stuffed-up mind. For thirty minutes I tried to convince her to sleep in tomorrow morning and save the workouts for a healthy weekend. But, alas, her stubborness wouldn't succomb to my manly persuasion. Finally, after annoying her incessantly (and I can be incessantly annoying when I put my mind to it), she finally agreed to "consider resting in the morning."

I let it go there, realizing that was as close as I would come to acceptance. It was a small victory - and sometimes victories come one small step at a time. She'd come to her sense in the morning, I convinced myself after I hung up the phone. She'd take my advice. The fact of the matter is, though, I'm just like Catherine. I don't take my advice either. In fact, I'm about as big of a hypocrite as you can find. If I were sick, nose leaking like a fire hydrant, you can pretty much bet that I'd be out there riding and running the next day, screaming down the center lane of Denial Street, right into the cross-traffic of Bedridden Boulevard. I'm as stubborn as they come when missing a training day enters the picture. Perhaps that's why Catherine and I get along so well - we're stubborn about the same things. And neither one of us bothers to listen to me, no matter how long I babble on with my gibberish blather.

I still feel bad that she's sick though. Is that so wrong?