I'm Probably Gonna Pay For This...

The Warden cracked the whip so hard Sunday, I damn near required hospitalization. She was kind enough to let me get a morning ride in, and then feed me before turning the screws, but after that, it was “The lawn needs to be mowed…the dog needs a bath” and so on. Need I remind you, Sunday was Father’s Day? Just a little clarification, my lawn is huge, under ideal conditions, it takes about 1 hour and 45 minutes to cut, but it hadn’t been cut in over 2 weeks because of travel and rain. I was out there pushing a little rinky dink, non-self propelled lawn mower for 2.5 hours. And it was hot. Further clarification, she says different, but she is lying, I did not make The Warden do dishes on Mother’s Day. She has this weird incurable virus that interferes with her perception of reality.

Anyway, the next thing you know it’s Monday morning, and I can’t eat my breakfast. Then I start feeling really weak, then nauseous, then my legs start cramping. I drank some Gatorade and started feeling mildly better, good enough to take the bike I had in the trunk of the car for a little spin. Large mistake. Huge mistake. It was the Mistake of Enormous Magnitude. I only rode 4.2 miles, but it did me in. About 20 minutes after I got back, my legs cramped, my stomach heaved, and all the Gatorade at the local Jewel couldn’t fix me. I managed to keep down some apricots and a PB& J (Food of the Gods!) but I was still weak and cramped.

After work I had to drive to my parent’s house and help them move furniture so they could have some carpet installed. I felt kind of useless; I sat on the couch while my mom moved all the small stuff out. I tried explaining to her that I probably only had one real effort in me, and was saving that for the couch. I was right. Immediately after I got the couch moved, I proceeded to lie down on the living room floor (the tile was oh so cold and refreshing) and groan in between asking for a bucket or bowel of some sort to puke in, and trying to convince my mom I did not need to go to the hospital. It was a difficult debate, complicated by the fact that after about an hour on the floor I was beginning to wonder if she was right. My fever hit 102, and according to the blood pressure machine my dad has, my blood pressure was 102/50. I just can’t stand the thought of paying some EMT at the local hospital 200 dollars to pump 2 liters of unsweetened sports drink into my arm. I need a new crank for the road bike.

After about an hour I was able to move to the couch, then about an hour after that I was able to sit up. A little while later I was able to eat some soup, then some more Gatorade, then some more soup, and a can of V8. I let that all gurgle for a while, then I went to bed. This morning I ate about a pound of my mom’s homemade beef jerky, and some Cherios, and another V8, real healthy I know, but the saltier it was the better it tasted, I couldn’t help myself.

I just got back from the doctor and the official diagnosis was heat exhaustion. He told me to stop taking the water pill he had prescribed for my high blood pressure, but that has been coming down steadily since April anyway.

There was no weigh in Sunday or Monday, I‘ll get that all caught up tomorrow. I gotta check my odometers and get my mileage up to date too.