Have I told you about the vertical marathon thing I'm going to do? Well, it's in May, and to be honest I've not entirely committed to doing it yet. Basically you just go up about 30 something flights of stairs. I didn't really want ot do it, but some of the people I work with have talked me into it. And I've goaded some other people into halfway-committing to it, too... so now I'm sortof more committed than I was before.
The biggest flight of stairs where I have easy access is 10 stories. I went to the basement level to climb to make it the full 10 flights. I've done this a few times. It's not pleasant.
Tuesday mornings I walk with a group when they don't stand me up. Typically I walk faster than them, but it's nice to walk with a group and not by myself, so I slow down. I thought I'd be super productive this morning and hit 10 flights before walking with the group. I did without much to-do. (Mind you, I walked 10 flights. There was no jogging or quick-pace involved. Slow and steady will win that prize.)
The walking group piddled out and nobody showed up to walk with me. I decided I'd go back and do 10 more flights of stairs before coming back to my office to settle in for a full day's work.
It sucked, but I did it. I wasn't even that out of breath by the time I got up to the 10th floor. However, in the elevator on the way back down I was hot. I willed the doors to open faster. I went outside to get back to my office. It was about 26 degrees out there, but it felt great hitting me wearing scrubs. I stayed out there a few minutes before coming back to my office while I was the recipient of many are-you-out-of-your-mind stares by passers by in coats, hats, and scarves.
Back in my office, I drank some water and ate a few grapes. I sent an email to the vertical-marathon-organizer saying that I think the company should buy us all stickers if we make it up 30+ floors without throwing up.
Then it hit me.
My stomach was mad that I climbed 20 flights of stairs. It was protesting.
I thought I could will it away like when I was pregnant, but no dice. I stood up and walked away from my computer and decided at a last minute that I should go to the bathroom.
You know when you know you're going to throw up and you cup your hand over your mouth in hopes that you won't spew on the carpet? I assumed that position. I threw up in my mouth with new hopes that it wouldn't spew out my nose to the carpet. I picked up my pace, but threw up again in my mouth.
About that time I made it to the bathroom door a male coworker walked through the other door. "Uh-oh," he said, "That's not a good pose."
I threw up again in my mouth before I made it to the toilet, where I threw up again on target.
The voyeur was on the other side of the door asking me if I was okay.
"I'm fine," I said between more throw-ups. I thought he went away, but he didn't. At the next break he asked again if I was okay. I told him again that I was fine. Another pause, another question if I was sure I was okay.
I opened the door to the bathroom. He was standing there, grinning, "Are you pregnant?"
I laughed. No, I'm not pregnant. I just climbed the stairs and made the poor decision to eat some grapes when I came back. I knew how crazy that sounded even as I was saying it.
"Are you sure you're not pregnant?"
"Yes, I'm sure I'm not pregnant. It's not possible." I didn't go into any futher details, and he didn't ask for any.
I rinsed my mouth and washed my hands, then stopped back by his office to further explain the need to climb 20 flights of stairs. He'd heard of the vertical marathon and told me he couldn't make it up that many. I told him that I was no longer sure I could make that many either. Maybe I should take one of those throw-up baggies with me just in case, you know, if I actually do it.
Needless to say, it was several hours later before I attempted to eat the rest of my grapes.
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