The year is 2014. You’re working out with your friend. The two of you have been training together. It’s been a good workout.
You’re sweaty, exhausted, happy. You’ve made it through. But you didn’t sleep well that night. You wake up at 5 AM with a headache, a bad mood, and a splitting headache. You head over to the bathroom and take a few ibuprofen to try to get some sleep. “This really hurts!” you lie awake. You feel guilty about the fact that the ibuprofen is making you feel worse. “Can you not take it on my behalf?” you think. You go to work, but everything hurts. You feel a dull ache in your legs. At home you’re feeling much worse, so you lie down to rest. You keep having bad dreams, where the monster has been chasing you, and you’re scared. You wake up. You try to tell your friends about your bad luck. They don’t believe you.
They think you’re paranoid. The two of you meet, and you tell her your story. She doesn’t believe you. She tells you to get a massage, have the muscles from your legs worked out. You have a hard time believing her, because all you’re doing is sitting in the living room watching the NBA playoffs on TV. But you go to the gym, and she sets up your massage. You take an ibuprofen. You feel a little better. You go to class and feel even worse. “I don’t like this class,” you tell your teacher. “I don’t have any energy.” She says, “Get your legs worked out.” You go back to the student center to do so.
You get out of bed to start your workout. It does not go well. You feel exhausted, and you lie in bed, having bad dreams. You wake up, having bad dreams, and you go to the workout again. It goes well. You are able to sleep. But then you wake up again and again. The second time you wake you decide to go for a mountain-bike ride.