It was November of 1993. I hopped onto the stairmaster at the gym for my afternoon workout. My legs felt noticeably weak. I wrote it off as one of those days when you initially feel fatigued. I just needed to push through. Get warmed up a little. But I barely finished my routine and headed back to my dorm, legs still terribly heavy. Later that evening, my throat grew sore. I peeked in the mirror to discover a few white spots on my tonsils. Clearly I had strep throat.
I considered the possibility that I might need to visit the infirmary come morning. Perhaps get a rapid strep test done and pick-up some antibiotics. The sun came up, and I could scarcely swallow. I scooted into the bathroom and visited, my friend, the mirror.
Horror.
