Running a 5K with a Cold: My Own Michael Jordan Flu Game

There’s nothing more frustrating than training for over a month, only to get sidelined by a random cold just days before the big event. I had been gearing up for what should’ve been an easy, almost casual 5K run through the streets of East Dallas.

My prep routine was solid—hit Lifetime, lift weights for 45 minutes, and finish with a 20-minute run or stair master session. I followed this plan religiously for about six weeks. I felt ready.

Then Monday rolled around—the week of the race—and boom.

A cold hit me out of nowhere.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been doing everything right: 8 hours of sleep each night, sticking to my workout schedule, eating clean. So how did I end up sick? I didn’t have the luxury to investigate where the bug came from. I had only one mission: recover—and recover fast.

Now you might be wondering, what did I do? Did I chug some mysterious potion? Sweat it out in back-to-back sauna sessions? Load up on cold meds like I was stocking for the apocalypse?

Nope. I turned to the oldest, simplest remedy known to mankind—sleep.

I shut everything down. Took my vitamins, drank plenty of fluids, and crawled into bed. My body needed rest, and I gave it exactly that. It sounds so basic, but in today’s world—especially in 2025—it’s oddly revolutionary.

We’re always on. Always working. Jumping from Zoom meetings to office check-ins, managing daily schedules while simultaneously curating our social media personas. Rest? That’s a luxury most of us don’t allow ourselves, especially during the day.

But in those moments, I reminded myself that healing required stillness. I calmed my mind, unplugged from everything, and let my body do what it was made to do: repair itself.

Slowly, I started to feel functional again—just in time for the Thursday race.

I wasn’t 100%, but mentally I was locked in. There was no way I was going to miss that run. Rain or shine, congestion or not—I was showing up.

And I did.

No, I didn’t beat last year’s time of 27 minutes. Not even close. But crossing that finish line meant more than a PR. It meant perseverance. It meant listening to my body and pushing through with sheer determination.

It was my version of the Michael Jordan Flu Game—on the uneven, unpredictable streets of East Dallas.