High on something . . .

My cold is coming along. No thanks to the crystal meth addicts. Thank you so much for ruining the ease of the OTC purchase of Sudafed for everyone. And for the record, the Sudafed PE stuff doesn't work for crap. In the past I have mistakenly bought that stuff before I found out that they pulled the good shit off the shelves.

I spent yesterday morning driving around in search of an open pharmacy that would sell me some psuedoephedrine. Publix's pharmacy wasn't open until nine, same with Eckerd. Finally after driving around it was 8'o'clock and I was able to purchase some from CVS--along with some Guaifenesin. All the while I had Beau with me who was freaking out because he thought he was going to miss his ride with Parker's mom and wanted to know exactly what was wrong with me: You sick? You have fever? Are you going to throw up?

Actually, I am surprised the lady at CVS even sold me the illicit Sudafed since I was a dead ringer for a meth addict-- zoned out and zombie like with stringy, unwashed and unbrushed hair, wrinkled mismatched clothes, hoarse whispery voice, black circles under red eyes, unruly child with obvious behavior issues most likely the result of years of parental neglect . . .

So yeah, I skipped my run yesterday and spent all day dosing myself around the clock with psuedoephdrine and guafenesin. It makes me a little loopy but in the middle of the night I woke up and was finally able to cough a good bit of the yummy brown mucus that was coating my throat and lungs.

Once I reach the point of loose cough it becomes easier to breathe and I am usually able to run. The soreness that was at my collar bone has moved down to the top part of my chest but it is all on the right side--I still have full breathing capacity on my left side.

As interesting as this must be I'll get to the point. My plan was to go running today. I really had no expectations of recouping my lost long run but I figured a 10 miler would work and I should be able to finish the week at my base line goal of 40 mpw (I had already banked 20 miles this week). By the time I got both kids off to school it was raining. Resigned to the weather and my cold I decided to clean the house and possibly go to the gym later or pray for a sitter on Saturday. At 10 am my house was clean (enough) and the rain had stopped. So I headed out for a run.

My plan was my regular 10 mile course as it was all I really had time for if I wanted to shower (yes) and eat lunch (yes) before I had to pick up Beau and Parker -- they were having a play date at my house so I wouldn't be able to do either with the 2 of them torturing, I mean fighting, wait, I mean irritating the shit out of each other and not sharing and arguing over whatever toy the other one has--I mean, no really, playing nicely with each other and not bothering me for a single thing all afternoon. A girl can dream right. . .

The run started out okay. The first mile is uphill for the first 1/4 mile, flat for the next 1/4 mile, down hill for the next half mile. Then it is all a slow uphill climb for the next 4 miles. Then rolling up and down the final five and ending on a slow uphill. By the time I hit the downhill in that first mile I was already making deals with myself: okay just six and then go to the gym later for a 4 mile speed workout. Really you don't have to run 40 mpw. Where the hell did you come up with that number anyway? Remember the days when you were happy with 30 mpw? My lungs were heavy, my head swimming and my calves felt like tight lead weights. I worried maybe I wasn't getting enough oxygen. And as I started into the 2nd mile it began to rain.

And out of no where I had new found energy. I have no idea where it came from but I started breathing better, my head cleared and my muscles loosened up. I found myself feeling lighter and by the end of the 3rd mile as I ran up a steep incline in the now steady rain I found myself singing this:
Make no mistake. I am not a good singer. At all. I don't even pretend to think I am but I still like to sing and often do when I run. I can't help it. It just happens. I forget myself and just sing. Normally this is not a problem since I run alone most times but during the Ga ING I totally embarrassed myself as I rounded the corner by the Carter Center in the 18th mile. I was listening to "Whisky in the Jar" and although the lyric is this:

whack for the daddy 'ol
There's whiskey in the jar

I sang this, out loud, very loudly, right as some man happened to run up alongside me:

Whack off the Daddy'O!
There's whiskey in the jar!

The man and I made eye contact and he looked more embarrassed than I felt. Oh well, I thought, picking up the pace and figuring he would forget me in a few miles anyway. I ran on not singing.

Today though I hit repeat and sang along again. I found that the run had turned into one of those rare and surprising runs where I find myself not only singing but skipping down the sidewalk and leaping over puddles like a ballerina (which I am not but I can do a pretty graceful split leap).

So anyone who was driving around metro Atlanta today and happened upon a woman running in the rain in a drenched gray skirt and camo baseball cap with a long wet pony tail swinging wildly around her head as she did leaps down the side walk. . .well, that was me. What can I say? Sometimes it is fun to be the fool.

10 miles in an hour 22--not bad for a sicky.