This past weekend I had a half marathon. One of my favorite runs that includes more than 5 thousand people running down a picturesque highway with red rock on all sides into the small town of Moab, Utah. Unfortunately, this year I was sick.
The weather is always perfect this time of year in Moab. 75 degrees and sunny. I am always excited and nervous as we load up on the buses that shuttle us the 13.1 miles away from town. Unfortunately, this year I was sick.
I usually stretch at the start, apply body glide to prevent chafing and pee no less than 4 times - usually behind bushes with Jess standing guard because I have an irrational fear of portable toilets. I usually relish every one of these activities. Unfortunately, this year I was sick.
I usually take off from the start with adrenaline going strong carrying me easily through to mile 6 where I refuel on a substance called "goo" that strangely enough tastes and looks exactly as it sounds. Unfortunately, this year I was sick.
What does a sick half marathon look like? Not pretty. To give you the complete story, I should probably back up to Thursday night when I went to dinner with some of my favorite client's after not eating all day. When my General Tso's Chicken arrived, it was all I could do to use a fork instead of just sticking my face in and inhaling as fast as I could. 3 hours later, my face was closer to the bowl of my toilet than it had been to my chicken.
Friday night, I had the same experience...hmmm...could this have something to do with this? It seemed that every time I ate anything resembling food my body was all ... wait a minute, we don't do that anymore...go chew on some grass...
Saturday morning I woke up starving, but was terrified to eat more than a banana - for obvious reasons. As our shuttle bus stopped at the point where the 5 mile run began, I seriously considered getting off. I was sick, after all? I was exhausted from puking 2 days in a row...I was starving...My body had turned on me...Was there any shame in running 5 miles rather than 13.1? As I was debating all of these things in my head, the bus pulled away and I was doomed to run 13.1 miles.
As we pulled into the starting point, I honestly didn't know if I could run. I have completed multiple half marathons and had never felt like this. I was already nauseated and I hadn't even begun...What if I passed out on the course?... Even worse, what if I vomited on myself?... I'd rather pass out than have throw up all over me...If I had a stomach bug, what if it manifested itself in other ways?...I looked around for race volunteers...I definitely needed to discuss my options...
To Be Continued...(For Part two of this story, click here)