Mami Athena says that my eating habit is killing me. All the nutrients I require in a single day, squeezed in an Oatmeal and Banana meal. Assured that it could stand as my carbo loader, I would brisk walk from the office to the gym to have my thrice-a-week workout. Pumping iron makes me fit. The 15-minute walk from the main street to the office and back to the main street again serve as my cardio. But the moment I come home, the floodgate of gluttony is being opened. I pig out on whatever fat-coated dish is served on the table. Extra rice is a prerogative.
Sleep then comes after.
This method of deprivation would go unnoticed. The Patroness of Giggling Dogs however has become obsessed in living a healthy lifestyle that she even counts the pinch of salt that is added into her food. Twice I saw her freak out when she tasted too much salt in her dish. Two weeks ago, we would do a leisurely hike around Wilson Street and buy fruits, which we would then wolf down after returning to the office.
Our lives would remain idyllic except that my body has never accustomed itself to the ever-changing weather. What is unbearably hot to others still is comfortably warm to me. But when temperature dips a little lower, that's when the trouble starts.
Flu is in these days. That's what the lady in Mercury Drug has told me. I thought Mister Throatie was acting up, so I stopped smoking and pumped as much Vitamin C as my body could absorb. The road to perdition was halted, fortunately - but - then I started sneezing and my nose began to drip. Days rolled unabated. I even went to the gym last Thursday despite my severely weakened state. The tide was turning against the virus - I thought. My immunity has prevailed. But when the ruckus cough began to hurt my chest and I started having difficulties in breathing, I left a distress call and asked the favorite aunt what antibiotic to take.
Cefaclor. P65 a tablet. 4 times a day.
I used to believe that my active lifestyle has kept me from any illnesses. I thought I was strong enough to route a simple flu. But I was wrong. I pushed myself to the limit and I am now paying the price. The cause could be traced from the job application a few weeks ago. Possibly, the hour-long brisk walking with Mami Athena under the sun and then followed by a heavy workout drained much of my strength. Maybe, I am still reeling from the Infamy last week and it is only now that my body got the chance to respond to the blow.
These downturns were ignored: I let my body crumble further by turning my attention to the raketship instead of resting. I denied myself of precious sleep and instead went to work at 3 in the morning to train some agents for a project that would never come.
And as if I have never learned my lesson yet: I went to a tropa's house blessing and drunk beer and wine as if I was never ill. I was even planning to work out after and then meet the Encantos and welcome the kid into the group. But then, I had enough.
Sages claim that the body is the temple of one's soul. Savants decree that it is a machine that is prone to breakdown as it grows old and weary. Many times it skips my mind that I am approaching my third decade: That I cannot lay claim to the strength I once had. For all the unbroken faith that I could get away with my wild abandonment, this most recent defeat of the immune system will leave a disclaimer that will break all precedents about looking after one's health:
"Handle with care."