Monday, May 3, 2010

You don't have to tell me twice. Actually, you do.

So I'm an idiot. This I realize. I've paid the price. Twice. In fact, as I sit here on the bleachers of Crispin Porter, I continue to pay the price. Heavily.

About three weeks ago, I went for a run on the Boulder Creek Path- it's a lovely path that winds up into the foothills, along a "Creek" which is actually more of a river-lette.

Now, we've heard of the fresh, delicious water from the colorado mountain springs. This made me assume that the water was unpolluted, and that drinking from one of these streams from the high tips of the mountains would be a fine experience.

It was hot, I was a half hour up the trail, and the water was tempting. So I went for it. For some reason I've always wanted to say I've drank from a river. I don't know why. The water was sweet and delicious, so I had a few handfuls, quenched my thirst and continued on my way.

Fast forward to 330am. I'm on the floor of my bathroom, puking loudly. My brand new room mate whom I had only met a week before awoke to my stomach's heaves and several flushings of the toilet. He did not fully get back to sleep.

A few days later I was talking to a girl who I went out with to dinner the day of my river drinking puking experience. She, took, had thrown up that night. We'd had fish for dinner, and I assumed it wasn't the water (which, that evening I was convinced I was dying because of a stupid thing I'd done), it was food poisoning.

Yesterday, I went for a 12 mile run with another Miami Ad Schoolite. She is not a person who drinks water- how she does it, I don't know. But I need water. I hadn't gotten a plastic gatorade bottle yet, and our ten miler the week before with my nalgene bottle killed my arms, so I decided I'd drink at the water fountains along the way.

The water fountains, despite it being May, were not turned on. We get to the fateful bend in the river where I had drank before, and I stopped to drink again while Kay made grossed out noises. But again, the water was cool and delicious. I drank up.

By my ten, I was heaving and trying my best to keep up with kay. When we finally finished, I swore I was going to throw up right there. We walked the half mile back to my apartment, where we chatted in my living room, while in my head i thought LEAVE SO I CAN PUKE. She wasn't out the door a half a second and my head was in the toilet.

I laid moaning and groaning in my bed for a few hours, and was -800 calories for the day because I couldnt get anything in my stomach. My dad told me something about amoebic dissentary where you have amoebas in your intestines.

After far to many stomach calming pills, I'm still fighting the need to stick my head in the toilets at crispin, and go wandering in search of the rumored bunk beds.

Hopefully I don't throw up any amoebas today.

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