On Sickness
At the conclusion of my final year of collegiate track and field, I came down with a killer case of pneumonia. What I had thought was a uniquely bad hangover on Sunday became a brutal illness that knocked me on my ass for an entire week. From one Sunday to the next my head felt like it had been pierced straight through with an iron rod. Every sentence I spoke carried with it a fit of bellowing coughs that racked my chest and skull. Any effort I exerted, whether it be lifting something or walking up a flight of stairs, sent me barreling towards my bed in a nauseous, clouded confusion. For three days, I was on top of my own personal world. I had finally run an 800 meter race I could be proud of and I was all but done with college. Seemingly in an instant then, I was at the mercy of a confusing illness and was forced to rely on the kindness of my roommate–who is, fortunately, a very talented nurse. It is not my goal to sound pitiful or attract sympathy. I am in many ...