This is one of those moments where I wish I could push the fast forward button to do the montage of me training and eating healthy and being miserable initially but by the end being stronger and leaner and not necessarily enjoying it by the end, but struggling less.
If life WERE a movie and this was my montage moment, the music would be Eye of the Tiger by Survivor.
It’s the eye of the tiger It’s the thrill of the fight Rising up to the challenge of our rival
I finally packed. The day of the flight. And I made the flight.
And flying domestically within the United States is every bit as scary as I thought it’d be – no vaccine verification, no COVID test verification, just wear a mask, pack into the overbooked plane and hope you don’t sit next to a cougher.
I was the cougher.
I mean, I knew I didn’t have COVID and was fit to fly based on several negative COVID tests and a call to the nurse, but no one else did, so I was eating cough drops like candy and doing my best to be invisible and silent.
Last night as I was falling asleep, I was coughing, like ya do, and instead of chilling out as I fell asleep, it just kept getting worse.
Until I threw up.
“Ah, okay, sicker then I thought.”
Except now I’m working in America where you cannot take sick leave every other week and I have a couple of shows coming up that involve flying on a plane that requires you to confirm and declare that you do not have any COVID symptoms and how much of this is just psychosomatic anyway?