Once, a long time ago, I had another blog on which I wrote about running and walking dogs. Then I didn't run so much and we didn't have dogs any more, so the blog stopped as well.
But sometimes I still run, or at least walk very fast. I ran on Saturday afternoon. It was an unpleasantly hot day with a biting, blustery northwesterly wind. It was the kind of weather that dries you out like a Mildura raisin on a drying rack if you happen to be out in it for a longer time than you intend.
I ran a few kilometres and the wind scorched my throat. Maybe I didn't drink enough. Later in the afternoon I was out in the heat some more, walked the few kilometres to and from Sydney Road. Why drive?
It stayed hot all night. I went to bed. I dreamed I was thirsty. These dreams are supposed to be about crawling through the desert on your hands and knees looking for an oasis, but I was in a Coles supermarket and the water and soft drink shelves were closed off and someone was pushing me out the door telling me nobody could buy any water any more because of the water restrictions.
Then I woke. I don't know what time it was. I was desperately thirsty, but now I was also swimming in a black pool of nausea. I had no idea whether it was something I ate or the 'bug' that people say is always 'going around'. It didn't really matter. I had stumbled to the kitchen earlier and tried to sip some water but now it made the nausea worse. I struggled to keep the fluid and fought a battle but lost. Thirst fought nausea. I struggled again. No deal. I drifted into a kind of stalemate half-sleep not being able to decide whether to die of thirst or pain. I hate being indecisive. So I decided it wouldn't matter either way and tried to sleep. But the nausea wouldn't let me, and after a long while a horse kicked me in the stomach, and I exploded. The horse's name was Thoracic Diaphragm, which would be a good name for a horse in the Melbourne Cup, and as I lay on the tile floor I made a mental note to check the form guide for next Tuesday's race.
Nothing happened for a few minutes, and then while I was still on the tiles, a kind of half-noticed silent tranquility became slowly apparent, like a sickly dawn after a night storm at sea.
Tracy had heard a noise and woke up and found me and helped me out by fixing me up some Staminade. I could have done it myself, but I was still lying on the floor at the time and Tracy didn't seem to be particularly busy at that time of the morning. Staminade is a vile green colour and contains salt and sugar but it tasted to me like chilled Perrier-Jouet. Maybe it was the green colour - exactly the same as the P-J bottle. The things you notice at three in the morning. I drank and drank.