Well, there’s nothing quite like catching multiple bouts of puke to celebrate a 13.1 mile run! If you read my last post, you know that I ran an out of town half marathon on Saturday while my husband and kids went camping. On the car ride home yesterday, my calves and quads were really reading me the riot act for putting them through such torture. They, of course, were not alone in their moaning and groaning because they had some pretty stiff competition from a couple of six year olds in the back seat. My twins were full of complaints about everything under the sun — they were hungry, tired, bored, etc. My son, in particular, was a pure bundle of joy, refusing to eat the cheeseburger I’d bought him for lunch and insisting on a great big bag of grapes instead. Now granted, grapes are certainly a much healthier alternative to a greasy burger, but in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to gorge himself on the entire gallon-size bag within just a few minutes time. Needless to say, his car sickness kicked in, and he proceeded to spew grape chunks all over the car. I tried my damnedest to catch what I could with my hands. I was completely twisted around in the car, feeling every single tired muscle in my body cussing me out for once again inflicting pain and suffering upon them. This lovely little puke parade happened not only once but twice on the ride home. The second time, I even had the luxury of it splattering on my sunglasses and in my hair. I wondered how many of the other 35,000 runners were having as much fun as I was. Some of them got a trophy for their hard work and efforts…I just got a handful of grape juice and stomach acid!