So things are not great over here. I woke up yesterday, prompted by my loving and well-meaning husband, to go for a run, because I asked him to. I felt a bit stiff but attributed that to it being 5:30 in the morning and that I would just shake it off. About .1 miles into the run, I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss, but running always sucks for me, so I just figured it was more of the same.
Until I realized that I was spending most of my run evaluating bushes and neighborhood fences as potential emergency bathroom rendezvous locations and wishing I had spent longer looking for my black shorts. I was not sure if it was going to come from the north or the south, but I felt sure it was going to come. I took it slower than normal, and I believe Annie could have lapped me at my highest speed. I was walking so slow I was able to text Rick about my misery almost the entire time. I can be really insufferable.
I returned home mad at Rick for "making" me run (or waking me up...whatever) because my pain was now all his fault. And if Rick wasn't to blame, it was surely these rancid new running shoes I purchased that were causing the immobilizing pain in my back. The shoes and Rick had also conspired somehow to give me a horrible case of the trots. Or so I believed at the time. Turns out, I am not the most rational when I am sick (or when I am not sick, or in the middle of the night, or when hung over, or....you get the point, but it's amped up big time when I am in less than ideal conditions).
The situation deteriorated throughout the day yesterday, rising to a climax of a puke fest around 5:30. Thankfully Annie is on the mend so I didn't have to worry much about her, though I did worry about giving this precious little disease back to my darling daughter. I ate nothing yesterday but a banana.
I woke up today feeling better and a bit hungry. Now I have learned a thing or two about this butt flu in my years, and the main thing being that just when you think it's over...it's not over. You inevitably get hungry and because you haven't eaten in days, you gorge yourself on something that makes total sense at the time, like nachos. You don't think about how those hardly chewed chips are going to feel when they show back up in 85 seconds. So I was tempted this morning to have a few of the birthday treats Rick had made for me, but I stood strong. The butt flu was not going to best me this year! I had another banana and some sprite and applauded myself and out-witting the flu of the butt.
But then I got REALLY hungry, and we needed to do some recon for Annie's birthday party so I ate half of a turkey sandwich from a local deli we are considering using to cater the party. Gurp.
Good news is that it actually stayed down! I had to fight it but it remained in situ. So in my delirious from my starvation haze, I calculated that this was/is a green light to consume anything, that I am out of the woods and I can make up for lost time and calories. I even rationalized that the gift certificate I received from Jen's family to Cheesecake Factory was God's way of telling me "Go ahead, have a slice of solid dairy! You deserve it! It's your birthday! It will be fiiiiiiine!" But then I heard Rick wretching upstairs and was brought back to reality that it's not that simple. And I must choose my meals wisely because if I do get sick on something, it will likely be ruined for me forever.
So that's been the big day over here. The butt flu birthday. As a wise woman warned me, it's very contagious. You probably contracted it by just reading this. Stay away from the cheesecake.
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