We're not in Kansas anymore, loyal readers, and there is no convenient yellow-brick road of training to follow from day-to-day. Although my internal pipes are pretty ok with that, the second part at least.
I made it almost six hours in DC, into the wee hours of the morning, before I started vomiting, probably from one bug or another hitching a ride out of the tropics. Litmus test of being a fully grown adult: you spend all night next to the toilet and not once call for "Mommy."
Thursday went spent somewhere between my bed, my couch, and my toilet, and the days since have been a steady, if extraordinarily slow, improvement. I am so glad that I don't need to be supporting any sort of training with thousands of calories right now. That thought alone...blech. For the first time in a long time I don't want a smoothie, a Diet Coke, or some avocado.
Also, it's cold here. I know I get precious few get-out-of-complaining-about-the-cold-free cards, but I have decided to redeem one of them now. Mainly because the temperature differential between leaving Cozumel and arriving in DC, with wind chill, has been easily 60 degrees. Again, so glad that I don't need to be supporting any sort of training with hours spent outside. That thought alone...chaps my cheeks.
I did not authorize these developments. And until I do or they sort themselves out: sweatpants, sweet sweatpants.