Last night jparks, a group of friends, and I went to see some new, unsigned, indie band called The Cure. Perhaps you've heard of them? If you haven't, just wait, I predict they'll be huge.
Anyway, we went to the concert and beforehand, at dinner, I had one beer. Not one huge ass beer, just one normal sized beer. Then I proceeded to chew on ice throughout the whole concert. (HP Pavilion has the best ice in the whole wide world in their suites. Seriously.) And yet, this morning I woke up feeling like I had been on a frat boy sized bender last night. How is that possible? Could one beer really be the death of me? Or am I getting sick? Or, even worse, old?
Of course, feeling like crap or not, I've got to go for a run this evening. I'm hoping that getting up and moving at a fast pace, in spandex, will somehow make me feel better. Maybe knowing that I stuck to my training plan will magically make my head stop hurting. Or maybe the idea of being able to tell jparks the next time he whines about not feeling well "I went for a run the last time I felt sick, so suck it up you pansy" is the real cure to my illness.
That's the crappy thing about actually training for something, you've got to train. You make your plan and then you stick to it. You hope that you don't have days where you'd rather chew on a broken glass bottle covered in blood from the bum fight it was just used in than go for a short (snort) 7 mile run. And when those days do arrive, you grit your teeth, throw on your shoes, and hope that you iPod can play just the right mix of music to make the trek bearable.
Please iPod, don't let me down.