I'm a stupid boy. A stupid, stupid, stupid boy. There's this little voice that resided in people's heads that warns them of approaching dangers; tells them when they're being absurd; keeps them from asking the slightly overweight stranger in the elevator when she's due. I bound and gagged that little voice years ago and locked him a closet near my temporal lobe, so he doesn't bother me anymore. This, of course, is what I get. Gina had this great idea when she got pregnant with the girls: after the babies were born she was going to make it her goal to complete a half marathon. She'd been a runner for a long time, but never competitively and never more than 6 or 7 miles. Being the supporting spouse that I am I quickly offered to do this with her. Of course I was much less of a runner at the time; maxing out anywhere between one half and three fourths of a mile. But, a few months after the girls were born, I was invited to compete in a 5k mud run race and with that my training started. I hate running, but I found out I love competing, so I was able to use one to balance out the other. After 5 mud runs, a 10k and a sprint triathlon in the past year alone, I was ready for this half marathon of doom that Gina signed us up for. ... until Friday. Starting around Wednesday last week the girls brought home a nice little bug that involved fever, cough and lots of mucus. By Friday night it was clear I was coming down with it too. I'd come too far (and there was a no refund policy) to back out of Sunday's race so Saturday night I got hopped up on NyQuil and packed a giant bag of Halls and went to bed. Oh, and we had to be up by 3:30am to get to our 4:45 shuttle for our 6am race time. It's like someone thought "how can we make a 13 mile run MORE miserable? Oh, I know. We'll make them do it with no sleep!" It worked, it was a pretty rough morning trot. Although, I will say, it was the most beautiful misery I've ever encountered (well, second; the first night with my girls in the hospital was much more beautiful and much more miserable). We ran along the beach as the sun rose up in the east and up through the Newport backbay as it started to sparkle off the water. Basically it was the opening credits of the "OC" tv show from a few years ago just on loop for 2 hours and 15 minutes and with out the Phantom Planet song playing. When I finished I informed my run partner (a seasoned marathoner who had no problem holding conversations the entire run and seemed more refreshed when we finished then when we started) that I would let him know when I found some part of me that DIDN'T hurt. Gina and her sister finished just below the 3 hour mark, so I was very proud of her as well. Of course, running in my condition only made the sickness worse. By Sunday night I could feel the fever setting in to my eyes and when I woke up at 5 on Monday morning to go to work I couldn't even get out of bed. My legs and feet were killing me from the run (I swear my toenails felt like they were going to fall off) but the rest of me was throbbing from the sickness. My back hurt, my neck hurt, my head hurt - even my fingers were achy. I was completely soaked from the fever and I was hacking up some ungodly material straight from the pit of hell. Gina refused to let me go to work so I called in sick and slept until almost 10:30. At that point the door to our bedroom swung open and two little midgets tried to tickle my feet and brush my hair, which actually made me feel a little better. Gina carted them off to her moms house for the day and I spent the rest of the sun soaked hours moving between the couch and my bed finding that neither was very comfortable. I couldn't even go on the computer because the light hurt my eyes to much (so I'm like the last person on earth to know that Osama Bin Laden is dead. ... and did you hear we landed on the moon?!! Congratulations ever body!). Today, with the help of a sugar free energy drink and the promise of an inbox full of e-mails at work, I'm feeling more like the walking dead than the totally dead. ... so that's a good thing. I'm also rethinking my plans for tackling the full marathon in October. ... maybe I'll have to push it back a few months. ... Nah! Now get back in your closet little voice. Don't make me get the hose out.