That's pretty much how my day went yesterday. I woke up feeling normal. (Tired, certainly - but it was just after 4:30am and who doesn't feel tired then?) I went to speed session feeling normal.(And cranked out some pretty slick, for me 1k reps.) I had breakfast with my posse feeling normal (actually I was feeling pretty good - happy with the session and enjoying the company). Then I worked till five still feeling normal.
So far, so good. Pretty average Tuesday. The only thing that was a little out of the ordinary was that Iven was home from work (as he's been for a week) with a bad back. That means that the dogs have been missing out on walks. I knew Toby was really needing one yesterday - he kept bringing me his ball while I was working, trying to get me to play with him.
Can we please play?
How many more bikinis do you have to cut?
So I did as much food prep as I needed to and left Iven in charge of cooking the chicken while I took the dogs for a walk. I don't often do this because Iven tends to get distracted mid-cook by the bright lights of the television and sometimes our meals end up a little (how do I put this kindly?) caramelised. We've not had a kitchen fire yet but it's one of my greatest fears. And no - I'm not a control freak ... much.Our walk was great. My legs had been tired from the morning's session but didn't take long to warm up and then going for a gentle jog seemed to be a good option - we could have our exercise but get it done quicker. And honestly, when one of your dogs has only very short little legs, you really do have to go at a very slow pace. Add in sniff and pee stops and it was probably the perfect recovery run.
I had dinner. Watched some TV. Then off to bed by 9:30 to read till my eyes shut. I turned the light off and started to drift off but was a bit uncomfortable so rolled over. And that's when it struck.
A pain in my back. No, it was in my chest. Or was it my stomach? No definitely my chest. Referred pain from my back? I've pulled a muscle in my upper back. Or I've slipped a disc. Actually, no, it's my chest - I think I'm having a heart attack. Heart attacks are different in women. Sometimes all you feel is nausea. Ughh - I feel nauseated. I think I'm going to throw up. No, it's the other end. Either way I have to get to the toilet. Do I sit or do I crouch over the bowl? Sit first then crouch? Or the other way round?
There's nothing worse than having to make that decision. Luckily I chose the right order but unluckily it did mean that I was having to stare into what I'd just evacuated while projectile vomiting what had been a delicious meal a couple of hours ago. And the pain just didn't let up. I managed to stumble out to the laundry to get a bucket so I could be sick from the comfort of my warm bed. I must have looked pretty awful because Iven dragged himself away from the television and was looking quite concerned.
I still wasn't convinced that it wasn't a heart attack because
a. nausea and vomiting can be a sign of impending cardiac misadventure
b. Iven thought that my skin was clammy
c. there is a history of heart disease in the family
and
d. I tend to leap to the WCS (worst case scenario) and if it wasn't a heart attack it was probably a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm.
A quick check of my pulse reassured me that my heart was fine. It was plodding away at its usual 54 beats per minute.
I lay there moaning and groaning in the foetal position for the next couple of hours. Iven got me a hot pack to help with the pain (maybe wouldn't have helped much if I really had been having a heart attack) then he drifted off to sleep in the prone position which meant that he was snoring - insult to injury!
I'd decided by now that it was probably either food poisoning (I HAD left Iven in charge of the chicken) or a tummy bug. I was really hoping that it was the latter because we didn't have enough buckets for the former and I certainly didn't want to have to queue for the loo. But the only other trip to the toilet was by poor Serena. I say poor because I hadn't been too meticulous in checking that the toilet had flushed away the evidence of my misfortune.
And while I was lying there, all I could think of was how this was going to impact my training. Was I going to be throwing up all night and the next day too? Would I have to miss my 16k on Thursday or just cut it back to 10 or 12? Would I be still feeling weak by Saturday and have to miss the long run? I didn't want to miss the 28k because I'm pretty sure that next week's run will be 32k and I really didn't want to have to jump up to that distance without consolidating with another 28.
By midnight the pain had settled enough for me to go to sleep and I stayed that way till eight this morning. And when I woke up it was like it had never happened - apart from having a bucket next to my bed. So I won't have to miss Thursday's or Saturday's run and my training will still be on track. And, even better, I didn't get blamed for the unfortunate state of the toilet. Serena thought it was all Josh's fault! Sorry Josh.
