Like most other fitness fanatics, I love to do a really good pre-Thanksgiving workout. A super-charged sweat session to ease my guilt of gorging on delectable, calorie-rich dishes the following day. It’s a mental thing, really. It’s as if I really believe an hour run will cancel out all of the mashed potatoes, turkey and too many slices of pumpkin pie. It’s my Thanksgiving tradition; and it has been since college. But this year, today, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my tradition changed.
I woke up with a sore throat, an aching body, and zero energy. Perfect…a Thanksgiving cold; I was down for the count. All I could think to do was whine and blame my sweet boyfriend (who’s had a cold since Monday) for getting me sick. I rolled over, looked at him, and managed to mumble a “thanks a lot” with a pathetic attempt at an evil eye. That was it. That’s how I started my day. A deeply sarcastic “thanks a lot.”
After some heavy convincing from my boyfriend, I made an appointment with my doctor. Might as well nip this in the bud before I’m really miserable, I reasoned with myself.
Upon arriving to the doctor, I couldn’t help but notice the obscene amount of patients in the waiting room. “Thanks a lot, now I’m going to be late getting back home today,” was on replay in my head. My schedule and my sickness were my number one priority, and according to my ego everyone else should follow suit.
The minutes went by and I kept feeling worse. 45 minutes later my name was called. The nurse checked my weight, inquired about my symptoms, and checked my blood pressure and pulse. Was it really necessary, I thought? Just give me some meds and I’ll be on my merry way.
Well, ask and you shall receive. The doctor arrived with a “miracle shot” that felt like hot lava going in my hip, and a prescription for a Z-pack. Thanks a lot. Now I’m sick AND my hip feels like it’s going to explode.
I finished packing, loaded up my car, and headed home. Two hours later, I was greeted by my fun-loving family who quickly noticed I was a tad under the weather. Go rest, we can do the cooking, don’t do too much, you need to sleep, were the first words out of their mouths. Thanks a lot, family; now you’re making me feel useless, I thought to myself. Talk about a serious internal pity party.
Despite the fact I was home and around the people I love, I was bummed because I couldn’t go for my yearly, long pre-Thanksgiving run. I couldn’t do the one thing that would justify my pigging out on Thanksgiving. Thanks a lot, you stupid cold.
I spent half the day sarcastically “thanking” things I had no control over. I woke up “thanking” the man who does everything in his power to keep me well. And by “thanking” I mean blaming. Blaming him for a cold. Not one of my finest moments as a girlfriend (sorry, honey). I “thanked” the doctor’s waiting room for being too busy. Was I expecting a response? I mean, really? I “thanked” my family for making me feel useless. My sweet, loving family who genuinely wanted me to feel better. And I “thanked” my cold. I don’t even know what to say to that. Who does that?
The day was halfway over and I had yet to do one productive thing. Here I was with a sick-chip on my shoulder while everyone proceeded with their day as normal. My pity party slowly subsided.
I was too busy “thanking” the innocent to realize my bad day, and inability to run until I couldn’t walk, was a blessing.
Instead of spending quality time with the pavement, I made memories, in the kitchen, with my mom and little sister. I learned how to make pumpkin pie (three to be exact). I baked a beautiful chess pie,and figured out the secret to making it set. I made an incredible batch of homemade pumpkin fudge, and almost melted a spoon in the process.
Today, I learned not to “thank” the innocent. I learned to be sincerely thankful for life and how it unfolds. It may not always go as planned, but I’m thankful it doesn’t. How boring would that be?!
Happy THANKSgiving, friends!
