Sunday, April 26, 2015

Week 2: Weigh-in and VOMITMANIA

My motivation to exercise on Saturday dissolved at around 4:30 in the morning.  I woke up, balled up at the end of my son's bed, to his whimpering sobs. I sat up and rubbed his back as he dry heaved over a pot. (I'd camped out in his room after his last vomit-sesh, the third one in five hours, and had been too exhausted to return to my bed.) He wiped his mouth, and choked out, "I just want to go to bed!" He didn't realize that he'd slept intermittently. 

"I know honey." 

I helped him wipe his mouth and tucked him back in bed. His forehead was warm, but not scorching, thank goodness, because I was quite certain he would throw-up the chewable Tylenols. I rinsed out the pot, moist with mucus-bile, and returned it to side of his bed. After his second up-chucking, I had switched out his quilt, sullied when he didn't make it to the pot quickly enough. Even with the quilt gone, the rancid scent of illness lingered. I found an gel air freshener, raspberry, under the bathroom sink, cracked the seal, and set it on his nightstand. 

I dragged myself back to bed and passed out. 

In the morning, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I'd woken naturally, and that I had been asleep for four straight hours. Woo hoo! I checked on Vin, careful not to wake him. He was sleeping like an angel. All was well. I let the dog out and saw that Rick had went out before work and picked up Sprite and saltines. Best man ever.

On the way back to my room, I passed the treadmill and thought, "I'll see you later. Much later." I crawled back into bed. Even if it was only for a little while. 

After lunch, I started to smell ripe. Like somehow the puke effluvia had seeped into my hair. Shower-time! I enlisted my 10yo daughter to keep an eye on Vin while I cleaned up. I was on my second rinse when Lane rapped on the door. 



"I just threw up." 

"Oh geez. Where?" 

"The bathroom downstairs." 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yes, but some of it got on the floor." 

I sent her off to bed, finished showering, and went down to assess the damage. Most of it did land in the bowl, but some, a watered-down cottage cheese substance, had splooshed down the seat and onto the linoleum. I mopped it up with one hand pinching my nose. 

Then, an hour later, Lane woke up from a nap and, for some reason, was compelled to go downstairs. Half way down, she grew dizzy and retched. It cascaded down three steps and soaked into the carpet. I scrubbed it with carpet cleaner and a towel, and I announced to the world: DAY OVER! 

I went back to bed. Okay, I made Vin chicken noodle soup first, but THEN I went to bed. Okay, first I did the dishes and wrote 2,000 words on my second memoir, but THEN I reeeeeaaaaaallly went back to bed...and read a novel for grad school

The last thing I wanted in the world was to jog. In fact I was willfully fighting my own commitment to run. I'm too tired. I might be getting sick too. No one would blame me for taking a day off from my training schedule, I told myself. And I won the argument, until 7:30pm, when I suddenly had to run. Nothing else in the world would make me happier. (Except for healthy babies.)

I hopped on the tready and jogged for three miles like it was no big deal. My pace wasn't great and, despite the terrible night's sleep and vomitmania, it was the easiest run in two weeks. Something clicked. It's supposed to take 21 days to develop a habit, but maybe I did it in 14? Anyway it felt great. 

And the best news is that the kids are both keeping down food and their fevers are subsiding. Vin is still complaining of a tummy ache, so he might need a doctor's visit, but they both look much healthier. 

So here's the weigh-in: 

Last week: 175 
Today: 174
I lost a pound. Considering my week and weekend, I'll take it. 

Love you guys! 

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