I had a plan... of sorts. Tour duh Charlotte route-finding and asplorations on Saturday. Ride out to and actually compete in the final Winter Short Track Race on Sunday. I was counting on some decent mileage and potential fitness.
Ride to the venue/start of the Tour duh Charlotte, meet up with the others, ride over to the first race stage. Hit the trail.
We find a tree had fallen right onto a trail that was recently built to reroute around... another trail that had been blocked by a downed tree. Meh. We discuss building a log-over, talk about some potential chainsaw work in the future, and decide to reroute the section with our feet rakes.
My stomach feels like a clenched up ball of hate the whole time. I assume it's because I didn't eat much the day before. Terrible assumption.
I have to leave early'ish (4:00PM), so I can make the grocery-getting happen with the family. Bust ass home, toss back a quick snack, shop, come home and make an ass-ton of Brussel sprouts and eggs.
Head to the couch for a family screening of Raising Arizona. Nia's first viewing, my eleven thousandth. My clenched stomach feels burbly... I run downstairs to my prison bathroom. Hell is unleashed.
Back to the couch to the bathroom to the couch to the bathroom to the couch...
And then I feel the burble on the other end.
Projectile vomit. Made it to the toilet without a second to spare. Such a strange thing. Like watching a very fast, reverse montage of my earlier meals. The human body is an amazing/disgusting thing. Red?? Oh yeah, peppers.
The rest of my evening was spent tossing and turning on the couch, and making sure I didn't soil myself. Needless to say, I did not race short track on Sunday. I was destroyed. I did manage to get up clean my bike, but otherwise, I spent the day on the couch. I didn't need to see Running Man, Lock Up, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Letters from Iwo Jima again... but I did.
Damn. The Boy had visited last week from Ohio, and basically suffered this same malady while he was here. I thought we were in the clear germ-wise, but woah... I was wrong. Losing a beautiful day of racing under blue skies and pleasant temps sucked, but not as bad as spending the day trying to deal with this at work would have been. I've never puked at work before. Seems like a very not fun way to spend the day.
On the upside, unplanned weight loss.
So, there's that.