Phantom

I realized today, that really, truly, I'm in the last 20 pounds of what will be an 85-90 pound weight loss over the course of 4 years. I realize if I had put in a consistent, ass kicking effort and gone hard, maybe that time would be shorter... But I think it had to happen this way, slow and gradual and controlled, because otherwise, I wouldn't have learned anything. I wouldn't have been able to maintain it, or changed my habits or any of that stuff.

BUT-- now this is it. This is the final countdown. This is the last stretch of that long run-- I'm locking up, my back is hurting. I'm trying to open my stride, to rev the pace and burn glycogen like nobody's business. (For those of you not into the running: I'm full as hell but I want to finish that plate of nachos to get my picture on the truck stop wall.... Okay maybe that's a bad one. WHATEVER.)

Home stretch-- and despite my drive to run faster and farther, my willpower is bailing. I opened at work today, 5AM, and then after a short nap, awoke with the hunger of three angry bears, freshly roused from hibernation. I wandered into my kitchen.
Turns out there are a couple of things you don't want to eat an hour and a half before you decide to go outside in the SNOWY APRIL-ALMOST-MAY weather to bust ass. These include: Microwaveable long grain rice, gingersnaps, granola bites and a glass of skim milk. All of which I ate before I threw my gear on.

Three quarters of the way through my run, I was sitting on the line between discomfort and pain. My stomach was a cluster of muscle-y, throbbing, knots. I felt like I was going to hurl, though I knew it was just the ghost of the real thing. Phantom pukes, if you will. 

The point of this story (I'm tired, I have a 5AM shift again, I'm cutting this short)  is that I threw up in my mouth, completed the 5K in under 34 minutes,  and felt great after.

Metaphors upon metaphors. Puke vs. plateaus of the motivational kind. Who knew bile could be so profound?