Yesterday morning, I felt good, so I went for a run with Norah in the BOB. I hadn't run in over a week, so I expected it to be pure awful, but it actually turned out to be pure awesome. Don't throw rocks at me for saying this: But we're enjoying some perfect running weather right now, and yesterday morning was no exception. Temps were in the mid-50s and the air just had that crisp, clean feel that makes running so enjoyable.
So, in short, I started the day feeling totally tubular. And I felt fine throughout the day too. But then, somewhere around 4:30 or 5 pm, I began to feel "icky." I'd eaten some leftover risotto I'd brought with me to school and a shitload of Valentine's Day candy. I blame the candy.
I thought that by getting out of my office and getting some fresh air, I'd feel better, so I went for a short walk around campus. It was nice to get outside, but I was still feeling nauseous. So, I closed the blinds in my office and tried laying down. Still nauseous. When I sat up, I knew what was next: Here comes the barf!
I hurried down the hall to the restroom and heaved a lot of pink puke: Damn all those Starburst and Sweethearts!
After puking, I felt better, and I was fine during my night class -- I may have had lingering barf-breath -- and while I didn't feel stellar, I felt good enough. So, I blame the candy because I don't know what else to blame except that apparently, during pregnancy, my stomach is like a very careful chemistry experiment and any slight upset in content or quantity and I lose my business.
Today, I feel fine. But I think I may have ruined pink and red Starbursts for forever. And that is a damn tragedy.