(Update 27/06/2012: Turns out I had a nasty throat infection and the beginnings of a kidney infection. So it wasn’t my diet, or my prep for the run, and I don’t suck like I thought I did. I was quite ill! All better now, antibiotics are a wonderful thing.)
I had my first bad run today. Bad, nasty, sick (wait, I think that means something is “good” now…), terrible, horrific, abysmal, disappointing, defeating…
I think you get the picture.
I started out ok, and even crossed the Canal locks again! (Go me!) I was sticking to my intervals, and as I made my way along the river on the Ottawa side I felt my legs get sorer and sorer. My stomach was not happy, and I felt a bit woozy. By the time I got to Portage Bridge, I was green around the gills.
And yup, I puked. Right there, on the side of the bridge. I found a water fountain* and kinda leaned/draped against it a few minutes, taking sips, willing my entire body to stop freaking the #@%* out. My legs were shaking, my head was pounding, I felt really fuzzy and out of it** and my hands were so swollen that you could not see my wedding band. Seriously, I had Mickey Mouse hands.
Wierd, and really hurty.
No one approached to see if I was ok. Which was good, since I wanted to die of embarassment. But also sad because c’mon people, where is your sense of decency? Help your fellow (wo)man! I was obviously about to die. Yeesh.
Once my head cleared, and the prickly, wierdness from my legs and hands had subsided, I carried on walking. I figured I could finish the loop walking, and if nothing else, get in a low-key workout day. I was halfway done anyways, the furthest point away from work possible, on my long run loop.
I was really, really mad at myself for giving up, not pushing through it like every runner and running advice column says to do. I had hydrated well, I ate a snack before I left, I warmed up… WTF, body? I was also defeated. Self Critical Beast was poking me with the big stick saying “You can’t do that run on July 1 you want to do… you can’t even run for longer than two minutes without needing a break… Your husband is doing so much better than you already… You should just quit… You will never be a runner… Look at you, fat and red-faced and puffing like a windbag… You suck.”
Yes folks, that was the monologue as I walked along. Fit runners breezed past me, not motivating me, but making me feel worse for not pushing myself, giving up too easily. So at the bottom of the incline to get on to the Gatineau side of the river, I picked up a slow jog. I jogged for a while (to the bridge that bounces as you run across it, read: WHEEE!), then felt the wobbly legs and tummy coming back and had to stop. I did not want to puke in front of the mass of school kids coming my way from the museum. That would not be “sick”. (Did I use that term right? I am sooo old…)
My hands had also re-swollen and were pulsating like strange alien hands, mottled red and blue.
I walked the rest of the way back to work, angry and tired and a bit worried about what had happened. I stopped at the bathrooms at Major’s Hill Park, and put my hands under the cool water from the taps. Heavenly. My hands were now so swollen I COULD NOT BEND MY FINGERS! It felt the same as the one time I almost froze them, working on a horse farm in February.
Let me reiterate. OW, *#@%ity OW!
I started reviewing the past 24 hours of food through my head, trying to figure out what on earth I ate that had enough sodium in it to make me react this way, because I had read that excess sodium can do this to a body when exercising. I wondered if it was the allergy meds I am trying out, or if it was indeed that I had not hydrated enough. The low carb cheesies I ate last night? Ther walnuts (I did have a large handful)? The two bites of crappy ice cream I bought for the kids because there was a monkey on the box?
Whatever it was that was invading my body, it sabotaged my run today. I can’t let that happen again. It will only fuel the Self Critical Beast, and I don’t want to fail at this fitness thing anymore. I can’t. My life depends on it.***
Also? I have a blister starting on my left arch. Seriously? A blister there? I know of no band aid that will stay on in that location. *@#%.