Anyone who has ever begun the arduous task of getting back in shape knows that the body will be sore--the calves tight, the quads stiff, the hips aching. What I failed to remember was that my stomach also needs time to acclimate. Back when I was a regular runner, I could eat a bratwurst, wash it down with beer, cap it off with a couple marshmallows, and go out for a six miler. No problem. It was as if my gastrointestinal system knew to gird itself against all the roiling. Well, my stomach hasn't caught up to my legs. The other night, after a particularly cold day, I made a great pot of chicken and dumplings. I even gave myself plenty of time to digest it. I went to the Y to run the track, got about two loops from the two mile point, and the heavenly chicken and dumplings morphed into a brick, and, brother, I mean like that! One minute I was grinding out a nice, comfortable cadence, the next I'm hobbled, my posture askew, my gait akin to Vincent D'Onofrio in "Men in Black." And here's the deal--people tend to sympathize with knee injuries and other "You must be a runner" type injuries. One doesn't garner much sympathy from acute gastritis.
It happens.
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