This has been a tough week so far. I haven't dealt with any major crises, I'm not putting in particularly long hours at work, and, as far as I know, everyone that matters to me is happy and healthy and generally doing well. Nevertheless, my sleep has been severely lacking, and the hours that I do get are not quality ones. On Sunday and Monday of this week, a rather sudden pain spread through the entire right side of my face and neck, leading me to think that a full-blown illness was only hours away. Although the pain and swollen lymph nodes that accompanied it eventually abated, I still feel absolutely exhausted. Making matters worse, I've been feeling as though my quads and butt are, shall we say, ahem, "growing." I don't
feel heavier, but I'm concerned that my pants are a wee bit tighter in the upper leg and seat region. As any woman knows, such observations are a sure way to turn a mildly frustrating week into one of full-out depression.
This morning, after a visit to the company pantry to collect our daily ration of fresh fruit and
Kashi granola bars, Caitlin -- who shares my affinities for running, cycling, and sleep -- and I sat in my office, commiserating about our mutual feelings of exhaustion. We concluded that we are either (a) getting older and therefore in need of more rest, (b) affected by the change in seasons, or (c) barely fighting off a swine flu or other virus that is making the rounds. Having cleared that up, I then proceeded to tell Caitlin about my ill-fitting garments. She sympathized immediately. More importantly, she assured me that any growing quads or butts are most
definitely the result of cycling; larger legs and
glutes are the price one must pay for powering up hills on two wheels.
She's absolutely right, I thought. I know that I can always count on Caitlin to make me feel better!
Several hours later, still feeling exhausted, and, by this time, with a low-grade headache and a craving for a chocolate chip cookie, I left my office in search of more coworkers with whom I could I blow off some steam. As usual, I ended up in Caitlin's office, which she shares with a few male coworkers. I plunked down on the office futon (don't ask). Immediately, Caitlin got up from her desk to plunk down next to me. I began to complain to everyone in the room, whether or not they were interested or listening, about my general state of malaise. One of the men suggested I take an Advil. Another offered me a cup of coffee. The third stared at me blankly. It was clear that the men in our office seemed incapable of properly appreciating my problems, and their quick solutions were of no help at all.
But Caitlin -- sweet Caitlin -- just reached with me into the box of
Godivas from a nearby desk. Ignoring the men, we each grabbed a chocolate and popped it into our mouths. Side by side, chewing the sticky caramel and allowing the creamy praline to melt on our tongues, we pondered the possible causes of a girl's growing thighs.
