After three years, Covid finally caught up with me.
The holiday season was not the most convenient time to get Covid but it was the best time to slow me down. I’ve been running a race since October—not the kind that requires you to lace up but still the kind wherein your legs and lungs are about to give up but the finish line is nowhere in sight.
Since October, it’s been like a race—no time to stop for a bathroom or water break. So, perhaps, God in all His wisdom, saw it fit to intervene.
It was, mercifully, a mild case. Scratchy throat for five days. Chills for three days. And when the fever broke, the colds and cough came. I, then, lost my appetite and then, my sense of taste. But this only lasted for 48 hours. After that, feeling so deprived, my appetite came back with a vengeance.
While my bout of Covid slowed me down, thankfully, it did not debilitate me. I was more tired from the Santa duties than from the symptoms of Covid. I thank God for giving me the grace to recover. And I beg His forgiveness for worrying about the real race.
I worried about not being able to train. I had a race coming up in five weeks and I had not resumed training since the last race I ran in November. And just as I was about to get back to training, Covid struck. So now, I was feeling truly despondent.
As I was fully aware of my propensity to do too much too soon, I took great pains to continue the sabbatical.
I did not want a repeat of what happened after my first shot of the Shingles vaccine in the US. I felt fine afterwards so I went for a 12-kilometer run around the neighborhood. Maybe, it was a bit much. I had been told I might run a temperature afterwards.
I remember feeling a bit chilly. I’m not sure now if it was the weather or me running a temperature already. Or both. The following day, I felt worse. After 24 hours, however, the fever was gone.
So, this time, I was not taking any chances.
Eight days after I tested positive, I decided to get back on the treadmill because I felt I was ready and because I really didn’t have that much time to train. I prayed my legs and lungs would still work. It had been three weeks since I last ran. Now, you understand my despondence.
By the grace of God, my legs and lungs still seemed to work. My second Shingles shot, however, is inconveniently coming up. So, once more, my patience will be tested. But I trust God’s plans and His perfect timing.
On days when there seems to be no end to your struggles, remember that you can choose to slow down. The goal is to complete the task not to collapse while doing it. So, pace yourself—reminder to self for the actual race.
After crossing the finish line, know that there will be another one and many more to come—because this is what living is all about.
May the new year bring you love and light from the One Above.