Yesterday, I went for my first ride over two hours in like seven or eight months. That occurred to me about two hours into it, when I still had an hour-and-a-half left — and well after I had thrown up and been drugged up and stopped at bathrooms three times because so much snot was coming out of my face I couldn’t even see straight.
I’ve been sick, like I said, which is fine, but I’ve been taking a lot of drugs at night to be able to sleep. Not that it’s been working well. And, so, Friday night, I took some Robitussin, then it didn’t work, so I took some Nyquil, then I was still awake and coughing, so I took some more Robitussin and maybe a sleeping pill. It’s unclear. I broke out in drug sweats during the night and felt like my stomach was tearing, then I sort of hallucinated some in the morning, though that is a bit normal when I’m by myself (Steve was at a race). I tend to hallucinate/dream that people are breaking in and that I have to wake up but I can’t.
When I did wake up, I was dizzy and light-headed and woozy. I probably wouldn’t have gone for a ride right then, but Ilyce was coming over — a fact I think she regrets now.
We headed out. She dropped me. I coughed and coughed and then I went to spit over my shoulder, like everyone does on the bike and like I had already done a handful of times, but instead I threw up. Over my shoulder. While continuing to bike.
Bizarrely, I didn’t stop at this point. Ilyce was waiting for me. And, then she had to ride hard for an interval and I had to cling to her wheel, which for a bit probably masked the fact that I was still dizzy. After I sucked for quite some time, she went on and I stopped at every public bathroom I passed to blow my nose a few times. The last hour was possibly the slowest I have ever ridden. And, I have ridden capital S Slow. But, if you continue moving forward, you eventually finish. So there. Boston ready.