Human petri dishes.

Standard

Woke up wheezy with a sore throat, but chalked it up to seasonal allergies and decided to do a bit of a run anyway, just to shake the muscle cobwebs out. Turns out the running app I use sometimes has a ‘fitness assessment’ thing which is very sophisticated.

By which I mean it asks to run 3K and times you doing it.

Despite laboured breathing and some knots that had not shifted since Sunday, my fitness level was deemed ‘fair’.

‘Fair’? I finished a half-marathon on Sunday! I mean, sure, I was slow, but come ON. ‘Fair’ is, like, what, a C?

I was a smidge disappointed.

Y’know, until I got to work and my head started slowly turning to lead. The feeling of having swallowed gravel and razor blades increased. My ears are now mostly blocked. I am possibly only not napping at my desk because of coffee.

Who/what can I blame for this? The tiny, adorable babies I visited late last week? The train full of other people’s sneezes? Every one of of the 200+ customers to whom I sold tickets yesterday who paid with grubby bills and germ-encrusted change?

I dunno. But this calls for whisky and garlic and eye-and-snot-melting spices.

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