Chills On The Run

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I ran today. Thirteen miles. I was excited about the run. Only thirteen. In these marathon training days of 17, 18 and 20 mile runs, thirteen is a gift. An easy day. A run-and-done given. 

Except today. The humidity was brutal and I hit the wall just past mile ten. Drenched and exhausted, I paused my watch and walked for a bit. I'm a slave to the plan though, so I kept pushing, walk/running the final miles back to the car. At mile twelve, chills set in. Not the reaction you expect or want from your body in 90% humidity. Finishing up in Country Park, I found myself shivering and breaking out in goose bumps even as my skin was scorching to the touch. Diagnosis? Dehydration. 

I wasn't alone. There was lots of chatter on Facebook today about the brutal running conditions. It's one of those things runners just accept. It's August in North Carolina and we're running in it. It's going to suck. 

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The Life Of The Communications Specialist

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I started my job as Communications Specialist for thesalesfactory back in March and, as some of you have pointed out to me in person, haven't written a whole lot about it. 

This is semi-intentional on my part. A lot of the work we do for clients is proprietary and I can't talk about it (or if I did, I wouldn't have to kill you, but I would do something uncomfortable to you like pinch you really, really hard). The other side of the equation is that the work is keeping me busy and I'm kind pooped when I get home.

But for those who have asked, I thought I'd give a general overview of how I spend my days. In no particular order, here are some projects I've been working on: 

  • Writing sample commercial scripts and taglines for a commercial that will air nationally
  • Writing a video script for a production that will run on a client's website
  • Writing ad copy for a print campaign that runs in Rolling Stone and Bon Apetit magazine
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In Sickness And In Health

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I'm official. I think. I registered with the American Marriage Ministries meaning I sent them my e-mail address, date-of-birth and zip code and they zipped back with this oh-so-cool-and-official-looking certificate verifying that I am now legally entitled to marry people. (And, I'm assuming, to perform exorcisms, but I'll charge extra for that.)

Maybe I can use my new-found ministry powers to heal myself. For the first time in probably seven years, I'm sick. Had a scratchy throat on Wednesday and came down with a full-fledged summer cold on Thursday that has dug its heels in and won't let go. I've skipped three workouts this week and only ran 10 of my 17 scheduled miles yesterday. I walked three miles and appreciate all my runner friends checking in on me as they passed. ("You're walking, are you okay?" "Do you feel alright?" "There's an unusual sight. Are you okay?") 

I've put off seeing a doctor because I keep thinking I'm getting better and then I keep back sliding. I'll give it another two days and then bite the bullet if it's still with me. As it stands, I've been in a NyQuil haze for the past five days and have little memory of where I've been or what I've said. As one friend put it, the original green bottle of death states, "May cause drowsiness" but should really read, "Don't make any f'ing plans." 

I'm off to cough up phlegm, 'cause that's how I roll. 

Cheers,

Dena