Workout of doom

Turns out, working out while ill is a horrible plan.

My pal encouraged me to join her for some butt-kicking cross training. Our soccer team has been taking a break, so I’ve been looking for something entertaining. I was excited to try this mysterious, gut-busting ordeal. It was intense – donkey kicks, burpees and lots of other jumping-around-things that I don’t know the names of.

Until about halfway through the first set when I took a break. As I caught my breath and cooled off, I realized my face was flushing hot. Like, super hot. I had to sit down. That’s when it hit me.

“Please don’t throw up in this gym. Please don’t throw up in this gym.”

Megan walked me into the bathroom.

“Please don’t pass out in this gym. Please don’t pass out in this gym.”

The good news: I didn’t pass out. The bad news: I did get sick.

I’ve surmised that I had a stomach bug that my daughter broguht home from school. Awesome. But getting up early, I didn’t give myself a chance to figure out if I felt good or not. Lesson learned.

As I was sitting on the bathroom floor, begging myself not to faint in front of my running buddy, she told me that probably the gym bathrooms were probably the cleanest of all the bathrooms in our office.

That’s what friends are for, people.