Let Me Be a Sloth

After my bout with Mr. Shingles, I’m a little afraid of doing some exercise again. I really don’t know if I had pushed myself too much.

Before I got sick, I did TRX on MWF, jogged after work with the Daughter on TThS, and danced aerobics in the mornings of SatSun. One of my students even jokingly asked me why I was punishing myself. Of course I was just doing the right thing for my health. Or so I thought.

Then the virus in me woke up.

F21 Checks
Promod Spaghetti
MNG Jeans
CMG Wedges

 They said shingles happens if one’s immune system gets weak, or if one gets stressed out. So it got me thinking in my Shingles Prison, maybe I did overcalculate the boundaries of my body’s immuno-friendlies. Maybe I was in self-denial of my biological age. Sigh.

Now that I’m supposedly non-contagious, I’m still feeling some nerve pains on my hand every now or so. My weighing scale is groaning and crying out for me to go back to moving my booty, but my paranoid mind is saying I might not be ready to work out. Not just yet.

I’m in a state of lethargy and sloth. Please just let me be.