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Blog entries about: diarrhea |
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I’ll have an Indian
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Those of you with a nervous disposition may want to avoid this one. In the year or so of swimming and general exercising, I have also discovered my love of Indian food. I used to never like it; I had a real Irish palette. Give me the blandest thing on the menu. Yet now, even though my cholesterol is a whopping 5.75, I can’t get enough of it. I haven’t graduated to Vindaloo or Phal or any of that nonsense. Food should be tasty, it shouldn’t hurt.
3 times I have fallen foul of an Indian with exercise the next day. The first time was in Spain at the beginning of the summer. I stepped out with Mrs.M for an Indian (which was gorgeous), and drank 10 gin and tonics. Just the preparation for a midday 10km road race the next day. After 4kms in the 35 degree heat, the stomach cramps were getting the better of me, after 6km I couldn’t take it any longer and I had to duck into a local English bar to avail of their facilities. “You’re bit off course mate,” one of the midday alcoholics remarked. “Not really,” I replied. Still finished, even if it was a lousy 53 mins.
The second time was a month or so ago in Wexford, out for a run in the country. About three klicks in, I felt the familiar cramping. No facilities at hand, so off into a local field for the old ditch and dock leaf treatment. No harm, some foul. I noticed it was gun club reserved land, and felt some satisfaction that one of them might step in it. I finished out my run, in a fairly reasonable time.
The third time was on Saturday. I treated myself to a mild chicken Balti on Friday night with a couple of beers and a couple of glasses of red. I believe it is what all the athletes take before a big training exercise. I met my team (including Ciara, our newly appointed support person), and Tim our Rib driver. For those of you not out on a Rib before, they have no ‘facilities’. Off we went out to the Kish lighthouse (about 8 miles out), into metre high swells. This was interesting in a couple of ways. None of us had swum in a swell like it before, and I was dying to get rid of the Indian. Still, I was first in. It was a nice steady swim, the first five minutes or so are a little unnerving, but then you get into a rhythm and you don’t really notice the swell until you come off the top of a high wave and get a particularly nasty slap in the face from the sea. Not too cold at all.
I got out, Stephen got in. I even held on to my guts for the next swimmer too, Catherine. Then it all went south. Tim, a realist, knew the score. He’d been in plenty of sea races and shat off more than one boat in his time. “If it gets really bad, stick your ass out beside the engine,” he said. “Try to get it all outside the boat, it’s easier to wash down,” he continued.
Colm was the next swimmer in, at this stage I had been through at least two of those moments when you are clenching and it can go one of two ways; either out or that weird release you get when it feels like gas is travelling back up your system. That can’t be good for you. Anyway, Colm was swimming right behind the boat. I was standing there willing him to move. Finally, he strayed to one side of the boat and it was ass-out, all systems go. Quick, easy, no mess for Tim. I repeated the manoeuvre when MAH was in the water, I hope it didn’t put her off her stroke. I had more spectators the second time, I don’t think they were overly impressed. Still, needs must, they’d have been less impressed if I hadn’t.
Got back in for a second swim, felt good, tidy. Seas had calmed way down. Didn’t get cold at all, could have happily gone for a third swim. Roll on the 25th, at least the boat will have a toilet. No sea sickness to report.
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