Uh oh.
Last night I ran home from work. Well, not home, but up the West Side Highway to Columbia where I cut over to Central Park, finishing with a little over half a loop. You don’t get many 68 degree days in early March—or you didn’t used to, anyway—and I thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the quirky but delightful weather, even if it is a harbinger of impending global doom. All in all, the run was about eight miles, give or take a lap around a track.
For most of the run my guts felt kind of funky, but I chalked it up to a heavy lunch. As soon as I finished the run, I bought a drink and turkey sandwich from a bodega just off Central Park South. Yes, there are bodegas off Central Park South. I’m too embarrassed to say what the drink was, but lets just say it was water with vitamins in it—sweet, refreshing and ordinarily unoffensive. Except as soon as I finished it, I started to feel nauseous, and while walking the two blocks from the bodega to the subway station a legitimate fear that I would either puke or shit my pants began to creep into my psyche. I’m happy to report neither occurred, but by the time I reached my doorstep, I was achy and starting to experience chills. I still hadn’t eaten my sandwich, and despite having run for a little over an hour and five minutes, I had no desire to do so.
I took an Aleve, forced myself to eat the sandwich, then I drank a beer. I went to bed freezing under my down comforter, still achy, convinced I was going to have to call in sick today. When I woke up this morning, I was sleepy, but otherwise fine. I know a stomach flu has been going around, and I was worried that’s what I had, but I am pleased to report that I have yet to barf.
On the train this morning, I read that article in this week’s New Yorker about the threat of genetically engineered flu escaping from relatively less than secure research facilities. It occurred to me that maybe running makes you fat, but maybe it also makes you Legend. Of course, when push comes to shove, I’ll probably be one of the first people skull-fucked by the C.H.U.D.s. I have very girly arms.
6 notes / March 9, 2012
