When you have a question about pretty much anything, the obvious place to turn is the Facebook. No matter how small your friends list, you can find an expert on ANYTHING there.
So, when I returned home from my 30 mile runageddon training run Sunday and woke up from my nap burning hot, I posed the question to my Facebook nation. How do I, as a 43 year old woman, determine the difference between a fever and a hot flash. I mean, either one is likely to lead to some sort of emotional meltdown on my part. But I figured knowledge might dictate my next steps, i.e., Doritos or dark chocolate. Or both.
The responses I got were terrifying. Phrases like “chili powder in every orifice” and “raging furnaces” and “burning from the inside out” and even a recommendation to cram my entire body inside of my freezer and shove ice up my butt were thrown around willy nilly. Like, these were totally normal and acceptable experiences.
These things are not ok.
Nothing that a woman has to worry about, unique to us, particularly as runners, is ok. It’s not bad enough that we don’t earn the same as men in the workforce or that some insurance will cover Viagra but not female contraception? (Is that still a thing? Cause it has GOT to be the STUPIDEST thing ever. EVER.) But no, let’s throw in some real physical mess, too. Don’t want ladies having it too easy. You know, we’re all sensitive and such. We need a little challenge to toughen us up.
So, every month we have to worry about bleeding out in the middle of our long run because we forgot to carry extra tampons and where in the hell are we gonna change those out, anyway?
And every month, we have to worry about whether or not that alien will be trying to claw its way out of our uterus on race day.
And apparently we can’t even run alone because that’s just inviting attempted assault or rape. Oh yes, I mean attempted. It may most certainly be attempted. But success is unlikely. Particularly if it’s a hemorrhaging, alien clawing, chili pepper orifice kind of run. I wish a crazy dude would…
And running bras? Has there ever been a more uncooperative clothing item? I have more concern about injuring myself getting one of those b-words off at the end of an August run than I do taking on any obstacle course race. Oh, you can most definitely pull a hammy removing a sweaty sports bra.
So, I guess I’m feeling a little resentful about the potential for internal spontaneous combustion becoming a standard part of my life. I just … It just feels … It’s wrong. Just wrong.
On the bright side, turns out that what I experienced Sunday were not hot flashes. I don’t think. I mean, I wasn’t at all tempted by that ice cube thing. But, I’m also not entirely convinced it was a fever. Because I’m also not sure if the body aches I’m experiencing today are DOMS from 30 miles followed by intense strength training or the plague.
Either way, I’m feeling fairly resentful today. If you see me out in the world, I’m gonna go ahead and recommend that you pretend you don’t know me. But you won’t see me. Out in the world. Because Kim and Norma won’t let me leave the house today. Because I need to “take it easy and get healthy.” (You can’t hear me, but I’m totally using my mocking sneering voice to imitate them.) I’m on restriction. Whatever. Joke’s on them. I didn’t want to leave the house anyway.