On Tuesday, in a cliched nod to the New Year and all the clean-slatedness that it implies, I dusted off the old pilates DVD and did some languid crunching and stretching. Then yesterday I awoke to find my body in a red tangle of soreness, the kind that jabs whenever you laugh (and I had lunch with Maggie yesterday, which meant there was much laughing). Ah exercise, I remember you now. And then, at about 3pm I suddenly started feeling those first tendrils of ill, the throat tickle, the visions of bed dancing in my swimming head. Oh, sigh. Is it possible that I finally, finally caught this wretched cold that everyone’s been talking about? I lurched for home and climbed right under the covers, and when I awoke a few hours later it was dark and I was officially sick. Pilates sore and skin-achy: what a terrible kick-off for the new year. Even my ears hurt! Cough, hiss.