The title is full of gospel-style truth.
On Tuesday, my body went into a weird vomity place where it stayed for three days. I had to take off an entire day of work that was spent either trying to sleep or staring into a toilet. I couldn't keep anything except Gatorade in my system and, after the first day, I just kind of gave up. But, I was so dedicated (read: stupid) to this marathon training that I got on the treadmill, against my better judgment, and did my training program with nothing to sustain me.
Now, I'm no doctor, but I can safely say that I probably would have gotten better sooner if I had just laid in bed, drinking hot tea, plenty of water and munching on saltine crackers.
I did get one thing out of this experience, though. I have GOT to start paying attention to what my body is trying to tell me. If you can't stand up for more than five minutes without feeling like you're going to throw up, you probably shouldn't be putting on your running shoes to go jog three miles.
Anyway, I have successfully defeated the monster that is a stomach virus (at least I think that's what it was). Everyone kept asking me if I was pregnant, which was funny the first time, but once that became the first conclusion people came to when I explained my upchucking extravaganza, I got a little annoyed. I was like, "I go to three, maybe four places: work, gym, park, home. Unless sperm has now become airborne and subsists of really hardy little upstream swimmers or God has decided it's time to start immaculately conceiving children again, there is no way that I am with child. So my symptoms, I believe, were some devious little virus.
And I will officially start my training again, after assessing how my body handles the strain. I feel all grown up now. And kind of like an athlete. Weird. :)