Two Fridays ago, my trainng partner and I ran 8 miles, our longest run to date. Afterwards, I felt a little tired, as you do when you push the human body to the outermost limits of endurance. The next day, I felt completely wrecked. I spent most of Saturday in bed, took it easy on Sunday, and still felt dreadful on Monday. It seemed like the kind of thing that could only be arrested by a massive infusion of antibiotics, so on Monday I went to the doctor instead of going for a run.

The doctor asked, “What’s the trouble?”

I said, “You know, it feels exactly like when I had mono in high school.”

He did a physical exam. “Your throat’s not that red, and there are no white patches. You don’t have too much post nasal drip. Your glands aren’t too swollen. You don’t have a fever. Your spleen’s not enlarged.”

I said, “Other than all those things, it feels just like mono. Can you give me some drugs?”

Well, “mono” was the wrong thing to say, because it is a virus, not a bacterium, so he insisted on giving me a blood test. “It’ll be back in two days, and if you’re still feeling lousy we’ll see about antibiotics.”

A week went by in which I could not get the office to return my phone calls. I figured all the tests were negative, but I still felt strangely horrible, which made me really cranky. I resumed my running schedule on Wednesday, thinking if my malaise wasn’t confirmed by medical tests or actual symptoms, I had better power through it.

The doctor finally called me back last night, saying that the test showed a reactivation of the mononucleosis I had my senior year in high school.

Hey! The viruses are having a twenty-five-year reunion, just like my classmates!

I am not pleased by this turn of events. Although it is gratifying to have my House-like differential diagnostic skills affirmed, it sucks to have a lingering illness with no treatment and no measurable symptoms to earn me sympathy.