It snowed on March 4th and reached 80 degrees on March 8th. Springtime appeared practically over night. I was so giddy from the sudden delightful weather last week that I decided to lose my damn mind and run OUTSIDE. It was just the square block around my apartment (about a half mile), but damn it, I was gonna do it. I was gonna run, outdoors, in plain sight, among the people.
And I did it. It felt spectacular.
Until it didn’t.
A thousand knives in my lungs. Pins and needles in my throat and ears. It was like I was allergic to running!
I am allergic. To spring.
Every year, the same thing happens: the world comes back to life, and I spend a week in a hay-fever fog of insufferable misery. That sounds dramatic, but if you don’t deal with seasonal allergies, you can’t possibly understand how bad it is. I’d rather have the flu for a month. I really would. Seriously, sign me up.
Even though the same thing happens every year, I never seem to be prepared for it. We’ve had a few fluke days of sudden temperature spikes since winter really set in, so my mind wasn’t geared towards real springtime yet. So, like a fool, I took a run through the active pollen of everything my body hates, inhaled it deeply during my aerobic exercise, and then slept with a nose, lungs, hair, skin, eyes, ears, and god knows what else full of what may as well be poison. I did all of that with zero antihistamines in my system. Needless to say, I woke up the next day in ROUGH shape.
And so fat week began.
No gym — can’t breathe.
Almost no sleep — can’t breathe.
Daily steps goals unmet — can’t breathe and too tired.
Lots of ice cream — because no gym plus no sleep equals perpetual temper tantrum.
I’m too irritable to even give much of a fuck about any of that. That’s how bad this shit is. I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I’ve scarcely logged in to DietBet and haven’t weighed myself at all this week. I haven’t met my steps goals since the night of my ill-advised outdoor run. The best night of sleep I got was on Thursday night, on the heels of a night of 3 hours’ rest, when I had ice cream for dinner and chased it with a cocktail of two Rx allergy pills (drowsy kind), 2 NyQuil, and 2 melatonin. It worked so well, I did that shit again last night after a shitty weekend of sleeplessness. I had hell getting up this morning, but it was worth it to have slept.
The week of torment is almost over. I can feel my internal armor of antihistamines reaching their optimum level, and even though my nasty cough would suggest otherwise, I’m finally starting to feel some relief. My energy and strength are returning, too. I may even be up for some light strength training at the gym tomorrow. I’ll definitely be getting my steps in no matter what.
In case it was unclear, I’ve hated this week. Not only was it physically painful, but it’s reminded me what life was like before my thintervention. My sleep quality was lousy, I was always out of breath, and I was just generally ragged. I felt constantly frustrated and irascible. That person was so unhappy for so many reasons, and even more unhealthy. This week, between reliving some of that experience and eating like a maniac, the idea that I could slide back into being that way was too real. Ain’t gonna happen. If tests of willpower, snow storms, and work stress didn’t break me, I’ll be damned if allergies do. They came the closest, but they’re not gonna win.
My symptoms are worse every year, so my allergist is starting me on injections this month. (HOLLA for good insurance!) With any luck, 2017 me will be at her ideal size and experiencing no spring allergies.
Future me: when you read this, remember how easily you could’ve blown this all up for yourself, but you chose not to. Don’t ever be the reason you fail again. Ever.