Maybe running around Forest Park twice in three days is a poor idea? 

First sign it’s too hot:  you come out of the bathroom and an odd, short, sweaty woman deliriously approaches you and your friend, waxing poetic on margarita flavored shot bloks.  "I didn’t even get any stomach cramping!"  You manage to get away…barely…

You start running.  It’s fine.  Then the nausea kicks in.  You fight through.  You stop.  You lean over.  You WISH for anything to make it stop. 

It comes and goes.  Ultimately you and your friend walk the last two miles.  You try not to feel like an abject failure.  And you fail at not feeling like a failure.

You go to the convenience mart.  Which is inconveniently sold out of low calorie Gatorade.  Great. 

You make it home.  You shower.  You go to Dressel’s and have the lamb burger.  Chris suggests you are being overly dramatic.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe you’re tired of the heat, of the summer.  Or maybe you just don’t run well in the late afternoon. 

You sit on the couch, still mildly nauseous.  (No, readers.  No.)

It’s 10:00 pm, maybe it’s time to hit the hay.  Tomorrow is a new day.