August 11, 2015

Okay, spoiler alert!  This blog entry will contain material about vomiting.  If you’d rather not read, I totally understand.  I don’t like to offend people, so if a story that includes the word “vomit” is offensive or disagreeable to you, skip it.  Oh, but wait!  I didn’t actually vomit (in the story), which is another spoiler alert, but now that you know vomiting did not actually happen, maybe you’ll read.   But maybe you won’t read, because I’ve included 2 spoiler alerts in the first paragraph…moving on! 

Last weekend I ran a half marathon.  I’m a pretty competitive person, but I can be kind of lazy too.  Like, I will run a race, and I will try to run it hard, but I won’t drink enough water days before the race, because I don’t like the action of getting a cup, putting water in it, and drinking something tasteless, that fills my belly.  That’s boring. 

So race day comes, and I was at the starting line, doing my usual ritual which is thinking about my shoelaces, (if they’re too tight or not tight enough), and then I think about it some more. I also slyly examine other people’s shoelaces.  Occasionally I strike up a conversation with another runner about shoelaces. I wish I could say I was joking, but this is true. 

And then the race began.  Things seemed to be going fine, but towards the end of the race, I decided to push myself some more.  As I did this, my stomach started to hurt, so I backed off.  Hmmm, this was new.  I’ve experienced lots of discomforts while running, but not a stomachache.  Then as I neared the finish line, I started to sprint, like I normally do.  As I crossed the finish line, I had this overwhelming feeling that I would vomit right there and then. 

I hurried to the closest garbage can, and noticed a nice man standing right next to it, just minding his own business, enjoying a beautiful day.  So guess what kicked in?  That’s right, my need to be agreeable.  Sometimes this is good, and sometimes you just need to get the job done.  But here I am worrying about making this fella uncomfortable, and I was seriously on the verge of heaving.  So, I started to walk away and look for a garbage can farther away.  I couldn’t see one at a comfortable enough distance, and I realized that it might happen on the ground, in the crowd, which was even worse!  I needed to get out of there!  If only I wasn’t so agreeable!  I could’ve just used that first garbage can.  Then I could’ve just apologized to the nice man, and offered him my last fuel gel pack (as a prize for being understanding).  And he would’ve given me this funny look, and I’d be like, ‘Hey! That’s all I’ve got!  Beggars can’t be choosers!”  And he’d slowly back away, and I’d be like, “What do you want?!  My medal?!”  And then he’d start to run away from me.  And then I’d yell, “What more can I say?!  Fine, you can have my shoes too!” And then he’d turn and look at my shoes, because maybe he needs a new pair.

But guess what the cool part of this story is, after a few minutes of me trying to figure out what to do with my conflicting feelings (stomachache vs. not wanting to offend), the nauseous feeling subsided, and I went on my merry way.  I wonder if that guy knows what I went through for him.