Back State-side

So, I'm two days back in the States from almost two weeks in the United Arab Emirates. Great trip - there was paddle boarding, indoor snow skiing in a mall, outdoor jet skiing on the Gulf, a spin class with a lovely New Zealand instructor, sushi, hummus, a pub quiz night, and a weekend in Dubai with friends that culminated in....wait for it....reverent hush.... Florence + the Machine. Live, at Sandance at the Atlantis.

What's the Atlantis? 

This. It's this. It's ridiculous and opulent and amazing and they had a very large concert called Sandance last weekend, and I WENT TO IT. AND IT WAS AWESOME.

But, le sigh, after a lovely two weeks with my boyfriend, I boarded a 14-hour flight direct from Abu Dhabi to Dulles (shared with a lovely man called Sayed from Pakistan and two very non-English-speaking Indian ladies), and I am now back in Baltimore and laid up with a sinus infection.

I have loads of photos to share, as well as fun stories, tons of food porn, and recommendations if you find yourself headed very far Easterly to the Persian Gulf coast. But, for now, it's tea with honey, soup, and finishing up House of Cards on Netflix. 

Runnin' on (Too Much) Empty

So, apparently I have a little problem with running.

First off - I am happy to report that I took six minutes off of my half-marathon time. Somewhere on my #dirtythirtylist that I started (and never finished, because I realized it was rather unrealistic to imagine that I would somehow learn lion taming and Mandarin Chinese between now and May 31) I wrote "run a half marathon in under 2 hours." I can scratch that off the list. I came in at 1:56, which is entirely awesome. Go me.

The problem - I celebrated my victory with another round of public vomiting. Not so awesome.

I know that gastrointestinal problems plague runners. And I keep experimenting with different means of trying to combat the issue. Eat less, eat further in advance, drink more water before and after, drink Gatorade, wait longer after running before eating anything. This time I waited too long and nearly passed out in a Wendy's on New York Avenue in DC.

Which is an interesting story in itself:

We were standing in line at the Wendy's on Saturday afternoon, a good four hours after we'd crossed the finish line. Somehow in that time, I had managed to only eat half a banana and some dried fruit. I just wasn't hungry after the race, and rather than force myself to eat, I chose instead to drink water and Gatorade. Stupid. (I also blame the incredibly packed Metro bringing scads of runners from the Armory back into the city, I blame Switchfoot for playing some awesome cover songs in the beer garden at the post-race celebration, and I blame Catalano for creepily finding me in a crowd of 30,000 and hanging out with us after the race. Side note: at any event of considerable size, Catalano has a very lucky and/or creepy habit of somehow finding me. She says it's due to the height of The Gentleman, because not many in a large crowd are 6'4", and he is usually to be found following me around. But it's downright freaky. I turn around - and THERE SHE IS. It's like she planted a homing device on me at some point. I wouldn't doubt this. I blame Vegas. I digress.)

If you've ever passed out from low blood sugar, you know how it feels: you suddenly get really, really hot. Your legs become rubber. The tunnel vision sets in, and you feel yourself start to sway. Every part of you is covered with a slick of sweat, and then you feel the floor begin to move uncomfortably close to the rest of you. I don't really remember everything that happened except that I ducked out of line at the Wendy's right after I informed The Gentleman I wanted a #1 with cheese and a DIET COKE (for health) and collapsed into a chair with my arms sprawled across a sticky table. And then the uncontrollable heaving began, and the next thing I knew, I was draped over a trash can next to the ketchup station, wretching nothing but Gatorade and banana bits.

You're welcome for that.

The interesting part - no one batted an eye. 

The Gentleman was desperately trying to get me something to eat and drink (he is not so great with the puking, but he is certainly a man of action when it comes to emergencies - when I got sick in the Middle East he went on a pilgrimage for Pepto on Christmas morning, and when I puked at the Baltimore half marathon he went out to hunt and gather as much Gatorade and water as he could find). I lay there, draped over the can, and dry heaving absolutely nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, an off-duty nurse who was enjoying lunch with her boyfriend came over to me and tore open a salt packet, shook some into my hand and instructed me to put it on my tongue. She gave me a cup of ice water and told me to drink as much as I could. By that time, The Gentleman had our food and a small Frosty for me. 

That Frosty was the best fricking thing I have ever tasted. I was exhausted, still sort of dry heaving, and still on the verge of passing out. The freezing ice creamy deliciousness was impossible to swallow at first, but after a minute or so of sitting there and sipping it, I became absolutely ravenous. I immediately housed a cheeseburger and an order of fries and promptly felt like a million bucks. 

Half an hour later, I was doubled over with cramps and I spent the next three hours in bed wondering if this was what it felt like to die.

Miraculously - by 7pm that night, I was completely healed. I scarfed a plate of nachos, some sweet potato fries, and the better part of a pizza that night. You know, because after months of training and eating right the best way to celebrate an athletic accomplishment is to stuff your face.

And, lest ye judge, I'll just go ahead and tell you that I spent the entire next day on the couch with The Gentleman eating Easter cookies and Pirate's Booty, drinking mimosas, and watching horror movies. It was pretty much the best day ever.

So, I've consulted a nurse/runner friend of mine who sent me some incredibly helpful advice about eating/training. I am going to attempt to either isolate the problem or figure out a way around it, whether that means eliminating foods from my diet pre-race, working out an eating plan ahead of time post-race, or something crazy I haven't even thought of yet.

I think a big problem is the post-race high. The adrenaline rush and the incredible feeling of accomplishment that floods through you when you cross the finish line sort of puts you in a stupor, and you forget about your immediate bodily needs. Blisters might bleed, your knee might be swollen, your head pounding, but you don't feel any of it with that amount of seratonin (or something) coursing through your veins. And, for me, it translates into not feeling hunger or the onset of cramping, and it's not until I am on the verge of passing out that I do something about it, which is too late.

Long story short - I am new to this game. My body is still getting used to the incredible things I am forcing it to do. To put all of this in perspective - two and a half years ago, I had a broken foot. The cast came off, and I probably couldn't have run a mile. And now? I know I can peel another five minutes off of my half-marathon time, and my dream is to do so without puking in a fast food establishment. Or anywhere, really.

But seriously- go me. And go Catalano, and Catalano's husband, and The Gentleman. We all ran hard, worked hard, and played hard afterwards. And some of us (me) puked afterwards. We are awesome.

Maybe next time, no puking. Live the dream!

So, That Was January

Taking a brief break from further documentation of the Jordan trip to discuss a few key points:

• My sinus infection is finally gone. I know you're excited for me. This was the worst affliction I think I have had in years, and my ears are still popping in ways that are mysterious. I have not yet braved the pool at the gym, fearing more liquid in my head. This excludes the jacuzzi. Did I mention I joined the Designer Gym? I felt like a betrayer and a sell-out for about a minute and a half until I discovered the sauna and the steam showers. New Gym is definitely an upgrade in New Neighborhood. Which, I suppose, isn't "new" anymore now that I've been living here for over four months. That was a lot of information for one bullet point.

• Now that Sinus Infection From Hell is finally gone, I am back in training for my next half marathon - the DC Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon on March 17. Yes, St. Patrick's Day. Yes, it will be awesome. The Gentleman and I, along with Catalano and Mr. Catalano, shall be heading to DC to kick some more 13.1 miles ass. Hopefully. If I can get my ass back in gear after too much vacation and gross sickness.

• I am officially weirded out by the weather. Last week I went running in shorts. In January. In Baltimore. Research tells me this is some freak of El Nino (is SPANISH for "THE NINO"). Everyone keeps pointing at global warming. I am a huge supporter of the global warming theory, but that happens a few degrees at a time. Not...suddenly 60 degrees in January in the Mid-Atlantic. This is something else. I should enjoy it, but mostly it makes me feel angry because I just really want a snow day and an excuse to wear my awesome new subzero Under Armour compression shirt for long outdoor runs. 

• I am so totally on board with Game of Thrones now, I can't wait to read the books. I watched the entire first season in less than a week. And by that, I mean I was forced to watch the entire first season in less than a week because The Gentleman and his roommate insisted that I would love it as much as they do. This turned out to be true. It's so awesome.

• Madonna's new song? No. Just...no.

• I really, really, really miss Lee and Hot Curry. Good thing I can blog stalk them as they begin the swift decline into total hippiedom out in the Salt Lakes. I am so psyched to see them at their wedding in April. And, you know, psyched that they're getting married and all.

Coming soon: back to your regularly scheduled Jordanian updates. We're almost through with the awesomeness, I promise. Just in time for me to start getting ready for our trip to the Dominican Republic in May. Because sitting still is boring.

Eating My Way Through Baltimore

Ah, so, time's gotten away from me again. No sooner did I finally shake The Plague that my regularly-scheduled craziness resurfaced. Shocking.


To tide you over until my next post, which will be about the majesty that is Petra, por vous:

One of those two pictures features The Gentleman. I'll let you decide which one. Hint: he's super handsome and wearing light brown.


Post coming soon, I promise.


In other news: it's Restaurant Week here in Baltimore, that delicious time that comes twice a year (Summer and Winter). I've already hit up La Tasca, and will be dining at Ten Ten with Book Club and B&O Brasserie with The Gentleman & friends later this week. It's a good thing this Restaurant Week times perfectly with half-marathon training. Because I will be eating my face off. And loving it.


This coming weekend is a wine tour of Maryland vineyards to celebrate The Gentleman's birthday. Party bus, whaaaat?! We did this a few years ago for Catalano's birthday, and it was quite the success. I, for one, am psyched and have fingers crossed that it doesn't snow.


So in the meantime, it's work, trivia, running, more work, and eating. Lots of eating. January is not treating me particularly well so far in the sense that it seems once I finally started feeling better from being sick, I got struck with that gross lethargy that accompanies cold, dreary weather and short days with long nights. All I want to do, it seems, is be sick all the time. And by that, I mean lie in bed for hours on end watching reality television, never changing out of sweatpants, and subsisting on hot food items like Amy's organic soup and tea.  But, unfortunately, I had to get all healthy again, and then one has no excuse not to get out in the world and act like a productive human being. What a drag.


I will self-medicate with delicious Baltimore eats and a wine tour. I think that's just the thing.


And I promise I shall post pictures of Petra soon, along with a write-up. I mean, it's where Indiana Jones was filmed. Be excited.


Smooches, Glitteratis.

Le Jordanian Bird Flu

So, apologies for the lack of posting going on around here, but I've spent the last four days lying in my bed watching so much Teen Mom, Intervention, and Taboo, I'm now convinced there are fewer sane people in the world than batshit crazy.

I kind of knew I would get sick after two weeks of crazy travel following two months of nonstop ridiculousness. I'd pretty much even banked on it, and given myself a nice little week-long cushion of no plans before January cranked back into gear.

What I didn't anticipate: standing in line at jury duty last week and feeling it. You know it. That sudden, sweaty exhaustion that hits you like a freight train. That moment where you realize, I need to lie down, right now, immediately. The kind of thing they design those signs for on subways: "If you are feeling ill, please contact a [socially-acceptable word for subway worker] immediately."

I fought it, though. Boy, did I ever. I took myself home, made myself some Immune Tea (a special blend of herbal tea, lemon, honey, and the apple cider vinegar with the alien "Mother" floating in it) and took it easy. But, two days later, it became apparent that whatever sickness it was, was not going to be fended off so easily.

I finally dragged myself out of bed one morning a couple of days later, realizing that after 10 hours of sleep I still felt bone-exhausted, and went to the doctor's. Diagnosis: sinus and double ear infections. They loaded me up with antibiotics (for the infection) and steroids (for the inflammation) and sent me home.

Note: I am not a fan of antibiotics and steroids. They are a last resort for me, when all of the homeopathic options have failed. Neti pots, vitamins, plenty of sleep, nutritious eating, and echinacea are excellent for prevention. But once that infection takes hold: I want drugs. Strong ones.

For the first time in years, it took until Day 4 of antibiotics until I felt human again. Usually 24 hours of the strong stuff in my system will turn me right around. No so, this time. I went to half-days of work, skipped trivia, and laid in bed for hours upon hours. The cats were overjoyed at my sudden over-presence whereas only a bit before, I'd been mysteriously missing for two weeks. (Which, to them, is like a month or something.)

I went through boxes of lotion-laced tissues, drank an entire box of Immune tea, nearly emptied a bottle of apple cider vinegar, and subsisted on soup and oatmeal. I was sick.

What turned it around, finally? Two things:
1. Good old-fashioned exercise. And by that, I mean I forced myself onto an elliptical for 45 minutes, sweated more than I did running the half marathon, and then stuck myself in the steam shower at the gym for 10 minutes to sweat and snot and get everything out of me. It was disgusting. And awesome.
2. Mucinex. The high-grade stuff they keep behind the counter. The kind you have to show ID for.

I finally woke up feeling somewhat human this morning, with only a lingering barking cough and feeling as though my head is only halfway dunked into a bucket of water as opposed to full submersion.

So, suffice to say, blogging shall commence once I have fumigated my room and put my life back together. I can't remember the last time I spent four days in bed. And while I got a lot done (if you consider reading chick lit and watching reality television productive), it's going to be slow progress back to my regular break-neck speed. My friend, Princess, says that sicknesses like these force you to stop, to slow down, and to get exactly what your body needs. Apparently what my body needed was to be flat-out on its back for four days. And drink a lot of tea. And eat a lot of Amy's Organic Soups. And have The Gentleman buy me gourmet chocolate bars with things like wasabi and chili peppers in them. He's the best.

Back on my feet. Sort of.

The most distressing thing: I am now two weeks behind in half marathon training. More than that, really, considering I couldn't get out more than 3 miles this morning without that awful chest-burning, hacking nonsense. Gonna be a long way back to recovery.

Ah, well. It was all worth it.

Sick Day

While pretty much nothing sucks more than feeling under the weather, (unless it's feeling under the weather on such a gorgeous day) there is something to be said for a good stretch of time on the couch. I can't remember the last time I spent an afternoon on the couch. (Even if our couch is brutally uncomfortable, too short, and not nearly fluffy enough.)

In between naps today I finally started catching up on my DVR list, specifically Boardwalk Empire. It stands as further proof that television has nearly surpassed film in writing and production value (albeit primarily on premium channels) and I'm also glad to see Steve Buscemi finally getting his moment in the sun. Michael Pitt (who I have loved since Hedwig) proves excellent as well, and the eye candy of historical detail is exquisite.

Yeah, I said exquisite. Even through my cold medicine haze, I pulled a little grandeur out and sprinkled it here for you, dear readers.

Onto the next phase of the healing process: NyQuil. And lots of it. Have to rest up for Epic Halloween Weekend.

Witchcraft

Last night found me on the couch with an ice pack on my shin and a warm compress on my face.

I am attempting to fight two different wars on two entirely different fronts: shin splints and ANOTHER sinus infection.

Because I can't stand the thought of subjecting myself to another round of antibiotics, I've decided to go holistic this time. Which means chugging a glass of water with 2 TBS of apple cider vinegar 3x per day (gag), eating boat-loads of garlic, inhaling a bucket of steam every half hour or so, warm compresses, hot showers with the water running directly onto my face, and pretty much any other method of breaking up this congestion and getting the crap out of my head. Believe it or not, all of these things work.

The trouble is, as always, "user error." These methods do work, and in ways far more conducive to overall healing then blasting your poor body with a Z-pack (which is like blasting an ant hill with a hand grenade), but they are time-consuming, sometimes expensive, and require diligence. I spent the greater part of last night transitioning between icing my shin on the couch (20 minutes on, 20 minutes off) and sticking my face in a pan of steaming water.

I also spent last night out-geeking myself. I freaking love crossword puzzles and documentaries. So what's not to love about a documentary ABOUT crossword puzzles? (One of the things I love the most about being single is the ability to Netflix whatever I choose without comment.)

So, icing and steaming to keep this body from falling apart. Have to take a couple of days off of running as well. The shin splint in my right leg is getting out of hand, and I'd rather take a couple days off now then an entire month later.

In other news: Artscape tonight! And how convenient that the Charm City Drinkulator--I mean Circulator--has a stop a couple blocks from my house? Artscape is fantastic. An incredibly eclectic mix of Baltimore's best, amazing artists and live performances (Cold War Kids!), beer gardens and block parties and all of the things that make Baltimore street festivals fun and interesting.

In the mean time: steaming and icing. Have to be in tip-top shape for summer daytime drinking-out-of-doors.