I was sick for 16 days.
I experienced chest congestion, a relentless throbbing headache that lasted a whole week without relief, and fatigue so intense I thought only death could save me from it.
Carrying a laundry basket to my bedroom wiped me out. My heart rate would jump to 125bpm making myself tea.
One evening I felt so incredibly sick and exhausted and anxious that I cried by myself on my couch.
My last workout before my illness I was really feeling it. I felt strong. I felt like progress was being made.
In 16 days I was sucked of strength and so much progress. My first workout back I was using mostly just resistance on my Bowflex, and at one third my usual weight, or less.
I was sad, realizing that in such a short time a virus could rip through me and steal my gains. Steal my confidence.
But I pushed through, frustrated that this low weight felt challenging, that by the end of my workout I could feel it. A work out that was so far below even where I would normally warm up.
After that first workout I then also mowed my lawn.
I was committed to my nutrition, my health and my rebuild.
The next day, the workout was light again. But progressively I improved. I pushed. I added weight. I worked through my mental frustration.
It is hard enough to maintain progress or make incremental gains over time. It's worse to have a huge setback in such short time and have to start recovering. But that is where I felt like I got a reset on my discpline and consistency.
It is in the comeback I found confidence in my humility, and discpline in my frustration.
And despite all of this, from my tearful hour on the couch when I felt so awful to the hours in my gym reclaiming my progress, not once did I ever feel like anyone else should be blamed, penalized or restricted from living their lives in freedom over my illness.