Sick and Running
I'm a bit crazy, but I was really looking forward to our 18 miler on Saturday morning. So when, on Friday afternoon, I started feeling a little dizzy, then a little nauseous, then really headachey . . . well at that point I decided I was in trouble.
Like a perfect idiot, I stayed positive though. That night, with a slamming headache and cold sweat on my brow, I carefully laid out my running gear, doing an extra careful job so I could, I imagined in my delirium, get ten minutes more sleep the next morning.
I got to bed at a reasonable hour, and then proceeded to wake up every hour on the hour for the rest of the evening. I felt like hell, and I might have slept, I don't know, maybe four hours.
I did get out of bed though. I made coffee, I took a quick shower (hoping that would revive me) and threw on my running togs. I grabbed my keys and started to make my way to the door. As I did I noticed that I was having a hard time keeping a straight line. I grabbed onto the couch for support, and realized only at that moment that I was an insane person. I slipped off my shoes, put down my bag and headed back to the bedroom. I slipped into bed next to my wife. She awoke briefly and cast a glance my way as if to say, "Well, you've come to your senses, have you?" Yup.
I woke up around 11.
Later that day I emailed one of my coaches, James, and told him about the whole thing, along with my newly hatched plan to make up the 18-miler the next day. He wisely counseled me to get some rest and not worry too much about the miles. I could, he suggested, add a few miles to a future run. Rest, he said, was the key.
I thought about that sage advice as I hit the road the next am to see how many miles I could get in. I'm a stubborn sot and a slow learner.
About three miles into my run it became clear to me that I was going not much further. I was light headed, drained of all energy and a little woozy. The running part felt great, but there was no foundation to support it, like a really nice house on quicksand.
I was on the trail--I had shown some foresight--so I hung a U-turn at the Lamar pedestrian bridge and headed back towards home. The run up the notoriously long Robert E. Lee hill was actually pretty easy, thanks to the three stops I made along the way.
I stumbled back into the house and got another one of those looks from my wife. I smiled and headed off to the shower, a short detour from my eventual destination for much of the rest of the weekend, bed.
Which is where I should have been in the first place.
Like a perfect idiot, I stayed positive though. That night, with a slamming headache and cold sweat on my brow, I carefully laid out my running gear, doing an extra careful job so I could, I imagined in my delirium, get ten minutes more sleep the next morning.
I got to bed at a reasonable hour, and then proceeded to wake up every hour on the hour for the rest of the evening. I felt like hell, and I might have slept, I don't know, maybe four hours.
I did get out of bed though. I made coffee, I took a quick shower (hoping that would revive me) and threw on my running togs. I grabbed my keys and started to make my way to the door. As I did I noticed that I was having a hard time keeping a straight line. I grabbed onto the couch for support, and realized only at that moment that I was an insane person. I slipped off my shoes, put down my bag and headed back to the bedroom. I slipped into bed next to my wife. She awoke briefly and cast a glance my way as if to say, "Well, you've come to your senses, have you?" Yup.
I woke up around 11.
Later that day I emailed one of my coaches, James, and told him about the whole thing, along with my newly hatched plan to make up the 18-miler the next day. He wisely counseled me to get some rest and not worry too much about the miles. I could, he suggested, add a few miles to a future run. Rest, he said, was the key.
I thought about that sage advice as I hit the road the next am to see how many miles I could get in. I'm a stubborn sot and a slow learner.
About three miles into my run it became clear to me that I was going not much further. I was light headed, drained of all energy and a little woozy. The running part felt great, but there was no foundation to support it, like a really nice house on quicksand.
I was on the trail--I had shown some foresight--so I hung a U-turn at the Lamar pedestrian bridge and headed back towards home. The run up the notoriously long Robert E. Lee hill was actually pretty easy, thanks to the three stops I made along the way.
I stumbled back into the house and got another one of those looks from my wife. I smiled and headed off to the shower, a short detour from my eventual destination for much of the rest of the weekend, bed.
Which is where I should have been in the first place.
posted by Robert Goyer at
12:14 PM
