At Least I Didn't Vomit

Things a person might be hesitant to share on a public blog: experience with mental illness, parenting failures, glimpses of grief. And almost crapping your pants. I might as well go for broke, since I'm putting it all out there.

So, this morning I ran the St. Leo's 5k. I was already feeling a little wussy because I chose not to run the 10k, but I thought it would be a good opportunity to work on my speed. The course was pretty easy - a few little hills, lots of downhills and flat sections. And it was incredibly beautiful this morning, really a perfect day for a run.

I opted out of the pre-race carbo loading dinner last night and went for fish tacos. Fish tacos. With lots of salsa. The hot kind. And beans. And cheese. Fish freaking tacos. I am an idiot.

I'll spare the details, but somewhere along mile 2 my gut is cramping up so bad, I'm afraid I'm going to be like one of those hardcore runners you see crossing the finish line wearing brown shorts. Except if that happened to me, I'd never cross the finish line because I would be hiding in the bushes until nightfall. I'd probably fall asleep and then some poor guy taking the trash out in the morning in this very chi chi neighborhood would find me curled up asleep in the hydrangeas. "Bitsy, darling! There's a poorly dressed woman in our bushes! I do believe she's pooped herself!"

We'd have to move. Probably out of state.

So, I'm running along, gut cramping, butt cheeks squeezing, planning our move, when a girl 10 yards in front of me leans over and barfs all over the road.Now, I am not known for my cat-like reflexes, but I did some high stepping moves that would have made a Rockette proud. While continuing to run and clench. It was impressive. And I'm thinking -ha! At least I didn't vomit!

And then she passed me, going really really fast. In fact, she smoked me. I ended up finishing much slower than I had hoped, but with my dignity intact. Until I ran home and wrote a blog post about it.