Running is so fickle. Often, I'll leave for a run that I am confident will go well, because I've rested and done all of my lower-mileage training runs, and instead every step will be like pulling teeth. Out of the blue, it'll be like I'm starting from scratch on that very first run again. Keeps me humble. And fluent in the best curse words. BUT, sometimes, I leave for a run that I expect to be a real bitch and instead it's a cakewalk. Like today--I left for an eight-mile run after missing my second short run this week, and sleeping only four hours on Friday night (hold for that story in a moment) and eating basically nothing but cupcakes between Friday evening and Saturday dinner (again, the stories are coming) so I expected this run to SUCK. But then, it didn't. It was fine--maybe even a little more than fine. Great, for the last half, because I got to run that part with Jenny. And that's the thing about running--out of nowhere, you'll have these totally magical runs where you feel great, you're running fast, the whole thing flies by and at the end you're like "WOW! Look what I DID there!" and you're hooked. Running is like a bad boyfriend in that way--most of the time it makes you frustrated and angry and generally feel pretty annoyed and not great about yourself, but then when you're just about ready to say "screw you, I don't deserve to be treated this way" it's like "have I told you that you're the prettiest, bestest, fastest runner that I've ever known?" and you're like "I knew it. We're perfect for each other." Sometimes these thoughts all exist in the course of the same run. Like all of my feelings, I assume this one is universal. Don't correct me if I'm wrong.
So about only sleeping four hours on Friday night--let me start by saying that I know some people do this every weekend. You go out late to the clubs or wherever the kids are going these days and you don't come home until the middle of the night and you get very little sleep. Not for me, friends. Not my jam. I am a BIG fan of sleep. After being pretty sleep-deprived for several years at the law firm, I've decided I'm not doin that anymore (unless and until we have small children in the house again, because I hear that they come with the side effect of sleep deprivation). SO. Friday night, I came home from work and started baking for this wedding shower I was hosting on Saturday. Well, actually, before I started baking, I trimmed some bouquets that I bought and put them in vases. Chewy was, as usual, excited that I was home and glued to my side. I trimmed the end of one piece of green filler that looked pretty twig-like, and it fell on the floor. Chewy sort of gingerly took it and looked at me like "this is for me, yes?" and I was like "get on with your bad self, Chewy. That is a stick. Sticks are for dogs." So he took it away to chew it up, and (it was later definitively confirmed) he ate it. Now, let me say that I'm generally not cautious enough about what I let Chewy eat. Because he eats ALL KINDS of things without my permission that are definitely not good to eat, and so far he's fine. A week ago he ate a piece of my pajama pants. No joke, I pulled on the pajama pants and thought "these are unusually drafty" and found that a chunk of fabric, about 6x6 inches, was missing from one of the legs. Couldn't find it anywhere, was definitely swallowed by the dog. So no, I was not concerned about him eating this stick.
Later in the evening, though, he pooped in the house. That's super weird for him, but we thought maybe we just didn't let him outside when we should have and we didn't think much of it. Then, at about 9:00, I started hearing Chewy's stomach make these very loud, very rumbly, very unsettling noises. And I noticed that I hadn't eaten his dinner. And then I realized I had let him eat that stick. I jumped online and discovered that many common flowers are poisonous to dogs and can cause, to quote the terrible interwebs, "death within 1-2 days" as a side effect. UMM, WHAT?! You probably have a sense from reading this blog, and/or looking at my Instagram account, that I am obsessed with our dog. Truly, over-the-top, inappropriately obsessed. If I were to accidentally poison our dog, I am not sure that I would recover. So, as you can imagine, I was hysterical about this possibility. I called my wonderful parents to try to figure out what I should do, and we collectively decided that if he was not throwing up, having diarrhea, or acting weird/lethargic/like he had been poisoned, he was probably ok. But, just to be sure, I decided to stay up and keep an eye on him anyway, because also I still had a lot of baking to do. My mom suggested that I feed him a piece of bread to settle his stomach, but he wouldn't eat that, which meant that he was reeeeeally not feeling well. Because, human food.
So I stayed up until about midnight (so late for me. I can't even tell you. 9:30 is my bedtime.) frosting cookies and baking cupcakes and watching my dog for signs of poisoning. And then I went to bed, because he seemed unhappy about his rumbly stomach but mostly fine, and he was sleeping so it seemed like I should be, too. And then at 3:00 I woke up to Chewy throwing up on me. This is a thing that he likes to do when he's not feeling well--he wants to come lay on me because he doesn't feel good, and then he throws up right on my feet/legs/stomach/whatever. So far nowhere near my face, thank God. So I got out of bed again, cleaned up, and proceeded to stay up with him for several hours while he was repeatedly sick and I frantically googled photos of poisonous plants to compare them to all of the different flowers in this bouquet I had purchased. By morning, Chewy was fine--got it all out of his system and made a full recovery. BUT, lesson to everyone who might not have already known, do not let your dog eat mystery plants. Apparently there are quite a lot of poisonous ones, and I can't recommend the particular brand of heart palpitation that comes from thinking you've inadvertently poisoned your pet.
So, that was my weekend. Feelin' fine and ready for Monday, y'all.