File under TMI, case #92,954
At 4:30 this morning, I named my future rage-rock band.
Thumper’s Throbbing Intestines.
That was about the same time I was questioning whether or not I would even make it to the opening ceremonies of the Avon Walk; I’d had about an hours’ sleep, possibly two—and not all at once—and couldn’t find a comfortable position to save my life. If I managed to find one that didn’t’ send my gut into spasms, it was killing my back. I’d gone to bed before 9 p.m. already tired; at 4:30 I knew I was beyond tired.
If it had just been fatigue, I could have pushed beyond that. The excitement in the air during opening ceremonies is pretty much enough to get a person through the first few miles, at least. I could have fed on that and gotten a good 9-10 miles in before feeling tired again.
However…I’ve been dealing with—to put it mildly—an overly upset GI tract for over a month and haven’t felt exactly wonderful. I refused to consider missing this walk regardless, and I got it into my head that I would be able to go to the walk, get up on day one and just load up with massive doses of Imodium, and then walk anywhere from 13.2 to 26 miles.
I hadn’t counted on how fatigue + whatever the hell is wrong with my digestive system was going to really feel like.
By 5 a.m. I was pretty sure I was not going to be able to go, and by the time DKM’s alarm went off, I was sure of it. I could have sucked up the fatigue and choked down a dose of Imodium probably not within the realm of a Good Idea and tried to walk…and I would have been miserable the entire time, wondering if the next step was going to be the one where I engaged in gross acts of public humiliation.
Yeah. I’m pretty sure you can figure out what I mean.
DKM was kind enough to get ready in the dark, being very quiet, so that I could try to get a little sleep; I managed to drift off for a couple of hours, and when I got up I was seriously second guessing my decision to not walk. I didn’t feel awful anymore; I didn’t feel great, but I also didn’t feel awful.
But then I packed up and headed towards the Starbucks across the street to get some tea for the drive home, and while I stood in line I broke out in a cold sweat and my gut started churning…I wasn’t so unsure then. That feeling plus walking…nope.
After I got my tea I headed across the other street to the parking garage, set my cup on top of the ticket machine while I paid for parking…and left it there. I realized that as I got to my car—dammit, the tea—but didn’t go back for it because, hell, if it was even still there who knows if someone spit in it or not; I hoped that some random street person saw me leave it there and grabbed it, because I’d rather think someone was enjoying it more than being pissed off at myself for losing it…and then realized that hey, I didn’t feel l so bad.
The 90ish minute drive home, I felt okay. And again began doubting myself.
But…then I stopped at the Starbucks near home, because TEA…yeah, it was uncomfortable. I got my tea and headed home, where no kitty was by the door to greet me. I plopped down into my chair, wondering when the twisting and turning was going to ease up, feeling really, really angry that I’ve missed yet another walk because of my damned gut—when I heard cat feet padding down the hall.
Max ran into the living room, and actually squealed when he saw me.
So that made me feel decent.
On the plus side for this weekend: I did make the drive to SF by myself (which is a bigger deal than it might seem) and I went to the Event Eve stuff, where I got a t-shirt for having raised X amount of dollars before the deadline (even though the shirt is not going to fit me unless I lose like 90 pounds) and while I waited in line for my too-small t-shirt, Jeanette Cereske—another dedicated walker and crazy cat lady—spotted me and we got to chat for a bit.
I also got to have dinner with DKM, which is always good (on my side…I don’t think I was the best company last night.) And she gave me crew t-shirts, and I’m a t-shirt whore.
But…now I’m home and annoyed and very, very glad I didn’t fundraise for this. At least this year’s non-walk is on me and not my donors. And damn, I am starting to feel cursed. Maybe I should stick to crewing…I’ve had luck crewing.
I do think that until I know what’s up with my gut—a visit to the doc is now in order, I think—I’m not committing to anything other than a virtual walk. I like those; I can do them at my leisure, pretty much. I need to get this under control no matter what; I am getting really tired of being the person who bails on everything.
Or it feels like I do.
The rest of today? While I second and third and fourth guess myself, I’m going to make a lap for the Psychokitty and watch whatever crap is on the DVR.