Time Number One:
Run...run...phone rings...crap. Nate: "Nipper (our dog) is in a lot of pain and is shaking. I'm at the vet." Me: "Sigh. Crap, I'll be there in a minute." Remember, I work at the vet, and I JUST LEFT 10 minutes ago to start this run after work. Ugh. (Nipper was totally ok, she was sore after her vaccines I had given her the day before).
Time Number Two (TODAY)
Run...run...*burp*...oh god! That burp brought up some stuff! Body: "Oh, looks like we are puking. I guess we should continue." Brain: "Oh, ok. I'll get right on that."
So I hurled. Awesome. It should be noted that I've never puked on a run before. I have a stomach that is usually made of galvanized steel.
After I finished puking, I looked at my Garmin (to restart it, since you know, I was doing more expelling of food and liquids than running at that point)- and it had died. Batteries, no more.
I said "FUCK IT!" and walked back to my car with my head hung in shame. Totally planning on doing the run later tonight. It didn't happen. Why you ask?
While I was cleaning my house (waiting for the Garmin to charge), I found this mystery substance dripping down my refrigerator.
|Moldy Christmas Coke Box. Fantastic.|
After pulling out the fridge, scraping 12 cans of coke worth of jellified sugar shit off the floor, and washing the cabinets, the fridge itself, and then MYSELF because I got it all over my arms....I was pretty tired. And not interested in running anymore.
The running gods were not with me today, folks.
How'd everyone else do?