My sides hurt. My back and stomach muscles are screaming at me. I wish I could say that it's from an awesome workout, but it's not. Let me go back a little...
I started a new job a few weeks ago. It's only a couple of days a week at a wonderful rehab facility but the days have been long. My problem is that I don't eat or drink any water when I'm there. I should, but I don't. I've been going home shaky and dehydrated.
The other night, my parents watched the kids so Adam and I could have a late Valentine's date with dinner and a movie. With my starving level of weakness...by the time we made it to the restaurant, I wanted to order everything on the menu. I settled for a buffalo chicken sandwich with onion rings. I inhaled all of my food and a few fries from Adam's plate. I ate too quickly but didn't care. Leaving for the movies, I joked with Adam that it felt like a rock was in my stomach.
Continuing our date, we both fell prey to the smell of popcorn that greeted us in the theatre. Getting one big bag, a box of Milk Duds and a huge pop, we smiled as we carried our loot into the movie. By the time the previews were over, I already felt a little sick.
On our way home, the rock that was in my stomach was taunting me. It's a dangerous combination to go from not eating all day to totally pigging out.
(Oh well. I'll just crawl into bed and it will be better in the morning.)
Enter...six in the morning...
I don't drink. I've actually never been drunk once in my life. My friends and family know this about me and it's never really been a big deal. I tease with Adam that for my 40th birthday in a few weeks, I want to try it for the first time. If THAT'S what it feels like the next day though...I will reconsider.
Everything in me was queasy. I sat straight up and put my face in my hands. A running mantra of "I will not puke, I will not puke" began to spin through my head. It was useless. My mouth began to water and the horrible reminder of buffalo chicken and popcorn began to rise. Shooting out of bed, I made a mad sprint to the bathroom. Barely lifting the lid, it was like an exorcism. The whole meal came gushing out. In between heaves I heard Adam mutter, "What in the?" as he made his way to find me...curled over the toilet.
It kept coming. I don't know how so much came out, but it did. I puked up the chicken, the onion rings, French fries, milk duds...there was so much - that I swore the popcorn that was coming out had to of been from when I saw "The Goonies" in 1985.
As Adam rubbed my back I could tell that he was holding his breath when he choked out, "Are you okay?"
I wiped some tears from my face and pulled myself up. "Yeah. I think it's all done now." I gave him a weak hug of thanks and crawled into the shower.
With my sore muscles from heaving an impossible amount, I have come to realize this. Number one...I NEED to start eating and drinking water when I'm at work and number two...I'll have to seriously think twice about drinking anything BUT water on my 40th birthday. (...or eating a buffalo chicken sandwich.)
I started a new job a few weeks ago. It's only a couple of days a week at a wonderful rehab facility but the days have been long. My problem is that I don't eat or drink any water when I'm there. I should, but I don't. I've been going home shaky and dehydrated.
The other night, my parents watched the kids so Adam and I could have a late Valentine's date with dinner and a movie. With my starving level of weakness...by the time we made it to the restaurant, I wanted to order everything on the menu. I settled for a buffalo chicken sandwich with onion rings. I inhaled all of my food and a few fries from Adam's plate. I ate too quickly but didn't care. Leaving for the movies, I joked with Adam that it felt like a rock was in my stomach.
Continuing our date, we both fell prey to the smell of popcorn that greeted us in the theatre. Getting one big bag, a box of Milk Duds and a huge pop, we smiled as we carried our loot into the movie. By the time the previews were over, I already felt a little sick.
On our way home, the rock that was in my stomach was taunting me. It's a dangerous combination to go from not eating all day to totally pigging out.
(Oh well. I'll just crawl into bed and it will be better in the morning.)
Enter...six in the morning...
I don't drink. I've actually never been drunk once in my life. My friends and family know this about me and it's never really been a big deal. I tease with Adam that for my 40th birthday in a few weeks, I want to try it for the first time. If THAT'S what it feels like the next day though...I will reconsider.
Everything in me was queasy. I sat straight up and put my face in my hands. A running mantra of "I will not puke, I will not puke" began to spin through my head. It was useless. My mouth began to water and the horrible reminder of buffalo chicken and popcorn began to rise. Shooting out of bed, I made a mad sprint to the bathroom. Barely lifting the lid, it was like an exorcism. The whole meal came gushing out. In between heaves I heard Adam mutter, "What in the?" as he made his way to find me...curled over the toilet.
It kept coming. I don't know how so much came out, but it did. I puked up the chicken, the onion rings, French fries, milk duds...there was so much - that I swore the popcorn that was coming out had to of been from when I saw "The Goonies" in 1985.
As Adam rubbed my back I could tell that he was holding his breath when he choked out, "Are you okay?"
I wiped some tears from my face and pulled myself up. "Yeah. I think it's all done now." I gave him a weak hug of thanks and crawled into the shower.
With my sore muscles from heaving an impossible amount, I have come to realize this. Number one...I NEED to start eating and drinking water when I'm at work and number two...I'll have to seriously think twice about drinking anything BUT water on my 40th birthday. (...or eating a buffalo chicken sandwich.)
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