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 ways infinitely fortunate because the circumstances of my sickness allowed me to, one, survive, and two, have access to medical care that allowed me to recover fairly quickly. Pneumonia, according to the CDC, results in anywhere from 40,000 to 50,000 deaths in the United States yearly. That’s not insignificant. Bacterial pneumonia, the brand I developed, is curable through medical attention and antibiotics. For me, a young, healthy person with access to excellent medical care, was not at any risk of death and received the care necessary to treat it. I recognize I am truly lucky.

Beyond the fact of my recovery and survival, owing to my geographic and economic position in the world, I was also very lucky in the timing and circumstances surrounding the illness. Two things defined my world for that year: Running and school. My senior year of both were, I am happy to say, fairly successful and pain free. Running-wise, I avoided any truly bad sickness or injury for the entire cross country and track seasons, seeing nothing but growth during each. Even while my house, which I shared with 4 other runners, became reminiscent at times of an emergency ward or army hospital. Torn muscles, broken bones, influenza, food poisoning, and even mono tore through the house at different points during the year. Thanks to the grace of some deity, or my propensity for sleeping early and not partying, I avoided it all. 

It was only until after my track season had ended that a sickness worked its way into my body. Once it seemingly didn’t need to be healthy anymore, it ceased fighting anything I may have been carrying. Perhaps it was 12 months of stress and exhaustion compounding to a tipping point, or maybe the timing was completely random. For how rough it was, I am lucky that, if it had to happen, it happened once I stopped needing to be healthy. My season was over, I was resting anyway.

On the school side, I was very, very fortunate that my course of study was one defined by projects and papers, whose due dates were well before finals week, and not one consisting of demanding exams. I had nothing to do academically that week, thank goodness. My academic situation at the time only added to my suspicion that my body, and mind, had been waiting for an opportunity to fall apart, and sensing my sudden full-system relaxation, took it. 

Pneumonia is, for an otherwise healthy endurance athlete, among the worst temporary illnesses to come down with. A sickness of the lungs, it affects the most valuable things we spend hours and hours strengthening, our breathing and our heartbeat. As is probably obvious, I did not run during the week I was sick. When I tried again, after a couple days of antibiotics but still a lingering, phlegmy cough, it was absolutely brutal. The 15 minute jogs I embarked on were painful, difficult, and punishing. After only a couple of minutes, my heart rate would sky rocket, that most valuable organ rapidly trying to bash its way out of my chest. My throat would fill with fluids and I would hack up yellow and green shit onto the sidewalks. When I stumbled back to the apartment building’s door, my brain was filled with fog and I would still be coughing like I was back to my asthmatic childhood. I managed 10 miles of running that week, a sharp decline from my usual training but at the same time a small victory. 

    For how rough and painful those runs were though, I now appreciate them in some small ways for the opportunities they presented. For one, I was quite literally forced to slow down. Running at my usual pace would have probably ended up with me passing out on the sidewalk. I had no choice but to take my time and listen to every part of my body, an exercise every endurance athlete should take part in more often. Second, it's an opportunity to gain perspective and exercise a sense of gratitude. I, for one, am enormously lucky I get to do what I do. I am thankful for a body that is healthy and is capable of running. Now, more so when I realize how quickly that can change. I am thankful for the care and support of family and friends, now that I see they will be there for me when I need them. 

Illness sucks, it does. I won’t pretend it doesn’t, I won’t romanticize it. I won’t pretend I am a better person for taking lessons and inspiration from a comparatively minor bout with pneumonia when others suffer and die from much worse. But I will try, so long as I can, to employ the good fortune I have and be thankful when I am healthy. It’s been roughly five weeks since I was sick and I am back to feeling like myself again, but more joyous in my running because I have, for now, learned to not take it for granted.