when disaster strikes

Tuesday circa 6pm

wave 1:
I had a slight bugbear impede on the ever loving sanctity of my league training the other day. There I was running like Ben Johnson on steroids and my stomach decides it's time to start messing around me. Usually my stomach and meself get on swimmingly, even the best of relationships faces it's hardships I suppose. I manage to contain myself to the end of the fitness session. Now I don't want to get too graphic but lets just say that once I'd found the appropriate facility to handle the situation at hand, in abject darkness (the lights we're out of order) I began peeing out of my bum. This was the first sign that things we're going south for the evening.

wave 2:
I survive training without further incident, although a constant burning feeling in my nether region serves as a plucky reminder that there's more to come. Much, much more. I bike home across a 3km stretch of road (it's probably more), half way to my destination, one of the peddles falls off. I thank my lucky stars that I bike like an old-lady on a walker at a nursing home. Strapped for options I "decide" to walk the rest of the way. Strangely the walk feels harder than the training I've just been through.

wave 3:
Gradually my stomach and ultimately my entire body turn against me. As I lay down to try and accumulate some much needed rest, I'm struck with the head splitting notion that I'll not be sleeping at all tonight. No the fates have something much more insidious in store. The first times the best because I've just chugged back at least 2 litres of fluid and it all comes out. When I get to about the seventh go round, I'm puking up my stomach lining and just waiting for the digestive acid to start eating it's way through the stomach and into the rest of me. Between puking my guts out and doing training I'll train any day of the week. Some time Wednesday morning I finally fall asleep.

wave 4
Wednesday circa 7pm
wake up wondering wtf just happened.