To be honest, the fiery feeling that caused me to leap out of bed early this morning had less to do with my running resolution and more to do with some intense carbo-loading I had done the night before with a Stouffer’s family-size cheese manicotti casserole.
The loaded carbs had been repeating on me all through the wee hours and now I found my swollen abdomen was aflame with a burning sensation, as well.
Leaping out of bed proved to be a short-sighted attempt to find relief, because while my left foot landed on the plush handmade bedside throw rug Aunt Elva had knitted for me for my last birthday, my right foot exploded with shooting pain after sticking a landing dead on the upright prongs of my Garmin watch charger.
In that moment I recalled that I’d unplugged the charger in the middle of the night and cast it aside in order to plug in the heating pad I’d pulled from the bedside cabinet with the mistaken hope that a bit of heat would help soothe my poor, over-carbed GI tract.
Even as I crumpled to the floor from my foot pain I realized that setting the heating pad to HIGH and falling back to sleep for an hour or three accounted for the fiery feeling on my stomach, but the intense stabbing sensation now radiating from the sole of my foot presented more immediate problems.
In that same moment I marveled at how quickly one can go from lying down on a bed to leaping up to lying down on the floor, sandbagged by an unexpected dance with stabbing discomfort.
The agony was real and to add to it I was of course even further delayed from achieving whatever relief might be found in the bathroom down the hall, since I was in too much pain to do anything more than writhe about on the floor and swear such a stream of such vile things that I upset my own sensitive stomach all over again and wished I could not hear another peep of my own disgusting voice.
Minutes passed and the swearing and writhing died away and I was finally able to get upright and hobble to the head, where I could take care of unmentionable things, staunch the bleeding on my foot, apply a thin layer of first aid ointment to my singed stomach skin, and wash my filthy mouth out with a bar of soap for all the vile things it had said.
And once those ablutions and absolutions were completed I found that I was ready to run only as fast and as far as it took me to make it back to the bedroom, get back into bed, and close my eyes in hopes of forgetting this morning filled with good running resolutions gone terribly bad.
Of course, as I took my final step or two I remembered too late that I’d forgotten to pick up the blasted Garmin charger, which lay in wait all over again . . .