A watershed moment:
Last night, Ann and I walked down my street to Cafe Stella. It's a beautiful French joint with excellent food, atmosphere...and Chimas on tap.
Work has been stressful for us both, so we let loose: Ahi tuna and steak were ordered, beers were poured...more beers were poured...and then we poured ourselves onto my sofa, watched the Badwater doc "Running on the Sun", capped off the night with a whiskey and turned in, knowing full-well that 7 hours later, my alarm would be ringing and we'd be heading to Temescal Canyon for our respective 2 hour and 2 1/2 hour runs.
You can guess where this is going.
We both cracked our eyelids at 8:15 and uttered, "Unnnnnghhhhh...". The Hangover Fairy had payed a visit! Hurrah! Dragging ourselves out the door, coffees and homemade breakfast sandwiches in tow, we drove to the ocean, hit the trailhead, and realized, "Oh SHIT, this is gonna suck ass!"
It hurt SO BAD. SO.BAD. We ran together for about 30 minutes before I realized, "Man, if I puked, I'd feel a helluvalot better." I told Ann, to which she replied, "Me too! If I hear you puking, I can puke too!"
This is the part where it gets gross. And surreal. But mostly gross.
I ambled off to one side of the trail and gave it a go. Just water. Dammit! Ann, however, had great luck digging deep and getting out most of her breakfast. I was actually jealous of her puke. So I gave it another go. More water. Shit.
Somehow, we separately completed our runs. All I could do when I finished my 15 or so miles was sit on the curb beside the car and shake my head at how stupid I'd been. We then consumed McDonald's cheeseburgers and ice cream because it was the blandest, saltiest, greasiest thing we could think of eating.
Quite a defining moment in our relationship, to say the least.