Short version? On Saturday morning I went running and almost died. Ok, that's an exageration...maybe.
Long Version. Over the years, I have fought the battle of the bulge. Sometimes winning, sometimes (most) not. What this has done is instill in me a belief that working out is no longer a choice. It is required. Those are the rules, I just follow...well, ok maybe I do make them. I still don't like them though.
So Saturday morning is one of the days I go running. It's ususally a longer run than the ones during the week (approx. 5 miles, about 45 min. Yes, I know I'm a pansy. Go mock someone else).
This Saturday I woke up with stomach cramping and waves of nausea. So what do I do being the smart guy I am? I put on my atletic attire and head out the door. I'm a little later than normal (addressing the stomach cramps and all) so it's hotter than normal. This does not deter me. There is a park with a running/bike trail about a mile or mile and half, depending on the route I choose, from my house. I chose the short route just in case. About 100 feet from my house I get my first cramp but press on. It'll get better, I think, which is not entirely untrue. I arrive at the park after about ten minutes. I head straight for the water fountain. Compose myself for a quick 2 mile jaunt (One there, one back) on the trail. "There" was actually pretty good. Nice pace, no problems, I felt ok. "Back"? Well...I should also mention that I don't like being passed (yes, I know that is a difficult position considering my obviously weak running skills, but nonetheless). Well, along behind me came some speed merchant. I held him off for half a mile, but now at about the 24 minute mark my body was sending signals of it's displeasure with my prideful display. Did I mention the heat? Cramps return with some intermittant fuzziness. I completed the second mile of the circuit at about the 29 minute mark, and was completely out of gas. I had a brick in my stomach and my legs felt like lead. My dri-fit shirt was now wet-fit. One small problem, I still had to get home.
So about a mile or mile and half, depending on the route I choose, back to my house. Definitely going the short route. I decide I will gut it out (rock me!) and attempt to jog the rest of the way home. About minute 30 (or approximately one minute after starting) I notice my sweat has an odd aroma similar to vomit. Minute 34, I stop running. Minute 35, I begin again. Minute 37, I think I'm going to vomit. Minute 37.5, I'm sure I'm gonna vomit. More walking. Minute 40, I'm about 5 blocks from home and start running again. Minute 44, I arrive home alive without having vomitted. I spent the next twenty minutes laying (or is it lying?) on a towel under the ceiling fan on my floor and the rest of the weekend recovering. Thus ends the daring tale of my near-death experience. I may be dumb, but I didn't miss a workout!