Running and Writing

On Sunday, I ran 16 miles. For some of you that doesn't sound like much (yes, we have certain friends -- PAT -- who run in excess of 100 miles at a time, so 16 sounds a bit... wimpy), but for me it was MONUMENTAL. I've never run that far at one time. EVER. My dear, sweet husband met me every 4 miles with water. I even tried the gels that Ashley suggested.

"What do they taste like?" Chris asked innocently.

"Hot, raspberry-flavored _____," I replied. (You'll have to use your imagination.)

The first 4 miles were nothing. The next 4, not bad at all. I started to feel a bit sluggish around mile 11 or so. And by the time I got home, I was a Hot Mess.

While I was standing in the shower, I was fairly certain I was going to:

A. Vomit
B. Die
C. Vomit and Die simultaneously

I stepped out of the shower, immediately flattened myself out on the floor, and called for Chris.

"Honey, I don't feel right," I said as I -- quite literally -- saw stars. I've never really seen "stars." Even in the high-intensity, over-dieting, prone-to-fainting phase of my life, I never really saw them. As I shivered on the floor, I felt the out-of-control sensation of my body failing me.

"Well, your lips are gray, Kat," Chris replied with measured calm. "Don't move." He bounded down the stairs and returned in a heartbeat with a banana, a large scoop of peanut butter, and a vat of water.

"Get this in your body. NOW."

And although I was still fairly certain I was going to:

A. Vomit
B. Die
C. Vomit and Die simultaneously

I did as he instructed. Because, quite honestly, I've never felt quite so betrayed by my body. It was entirely surreal. All completely fixable, but a bit scary nonetheless. Lesson learned: proper hydration and nutrition is non-negotiable. Period.

This morning, I received a package from Bennington College. When Chris handed it over to me, I felt a very familiar sensation. Yup. You guessed it. I was pretty sure I was going to:

A. Vomit
B. Die
C. Vomit and Die simultaneously

"It's too soon!" I yelled at Chris as I shoved the package back toward him. "If I've been rejected already, they had to really HATE everything I sent them!"

I pictured the Admissions Committee gathered around a large conference table smoking cigars, laughing jovially, and pointing out all my literary shortcomings.

As I opened the envelope, my hands were shaking uncontrollably. My heart was beating faster than it did during my 16-miler, and I broke out into a cold sweat. No exaggeration. Who knew the world of academia and the world of chafing and stinky socks could merge so beautifully?

Of course, the envelope contained nothing more than a standard "We've received your application and expect to notify candidates within the next two months" set of materials. OF COURSE, they didn't turn my application around within 6 days spanning a holiday weekend.

And so the waiting begins...

To help pass the time, I think I'll go grab a banana and a spoonful of peanut butter.