WEEK 9, DAY 5: Babbling like a loon and the coaches say rest

I have a whole bunch of thoughts this morning, so this blog is going to ramble in a semi-heavily-medicated way. (That's mostly because I'm semi-heavily medicated. You would be too after gagging down this handful of pills: fiber, glucosamine, multi-vitamin, fish oil, magnesium/potassium/calcium, beta blocker, blood pressure increaser, SSRI, and valium. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It turned out I am having a relapse in dizzy spells, and the inevitably ensuing debilitating exhaustion, because I needed more meds. The doctor's office neglected to tell me that I should have called when nearing the end of my 3-month prescription and not when I finished it, because it turns out that most people need more like 6 months of the medicine to get over the inner ear problem. Or 9. Or 12.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

So, how long is it going to take for me to get back to normal? The truth is, I don't give two flying green shits from a rat's ass if I have to be on valium every day for the rest of my life. Frankly, valium's kind of fun - the first hour or so you feel rather dopey, but then following that hour, you have a lot of bizarre energy and feel almost like you can tackle the world. (Let me stop and clarify that I am on a infinitesimally small dose which I take precisely as directed, lest anyone who is unfamiliar with my unorthodox brand of humor, or who ceases to detect the hint of sarcasm in my typing, develop even a modicum of concern.) I just want to feel normal. And, if valium is what that takes - hell, if it took an entire opium den, I wouldn't care. I would personally fly to the best poppy field in the world and take home several plants with which to cultivate my own personal supply.

Listen, I'm a realist, people. I'm not a super-idealistic-perfectionist-world-saver-wannabe. I just want to wake up and not feel like I need to die within less than two hours of being awake. I'd like to be able to work a full-time job, exercise a couple hours on most days of the week, and stay awake long enough to read a book or two without being paralyzed by a dizzy spell, episode of exhaustion, bout of nausea, or general, inexplicable malaise. I'm not asking to have Bill Gates' fortune or success, to have a stable of muscle-bound hunks on bended knee hanging on my every word, or to become America's next top, best, or famous ANYTHING. I just want to feel FINE. And that means I don't want to keep going along for two or three months doing great and then BLAMMO! Derailed again, for an entire week. Or two. Or 12.

It is difficult to believe that I am so obsessive-compulsive that I need not one but two coaches to tell me to rest when I barely feel like moving, let alone working. I thought I was feeling better yesterday when I took my meds (they got called in to the pharma yesterday afternoon), but after this morning's cocktail I was sent packing immediately to the nearest drugstore for a box of dramamine and a bottle of Advil. So yes, Hal and Vivian, I will be resting, I will not be doing anything but my light workouts on Saturday morning and taking it easy at the race.

On Sunday I will just have to refrain from taking my medicine until the race is over and make sure to dope myself up with Dramamine a few hours before I swim.

I. AM. FINISHING.

DO YOU HEAR THAT, LAKE MINNEOLA?!!!! You are NOT TAKING ME DOWN THIS TIME.

I may be the last person to come across that finish line but I will be DAMNED if I don't cross it.