Last week was rough on a number of levels, so when I finally got a chance to detach myself from work for a little while I took it to that silly level where shots flowed like water and tomfoolery ensued.
McDonald's may or may not have been involved. Considering I talked all night about how my last meal on death row is going to be a 10 piece nugget meal supersized with two double hamburgers, I'm willing to go out on a limb and confirm the I most likely visited the golden arches. The real closer was the Mickey D's salt packet I found in my pocket this morning, (McDonalds's salt is pretty much the most amazing thing on earth that isn't McDonald's sweet and sour sauce. I would honestly bathe in that junk.) This would have been my second visit in the past two days so had it not been for the 40 miles I put in this week I'd have been less than amused.
But regardless, when I woke up fully dressed and shoed from the night before on Sunday morning, with little recollection of how I got home, a pocket full of receipts that didn't make sense, and a run planned for noon I immediately figured I'd be entering an evil place populated by vomitism and pain. But none of that actually came to pass. The reason? While I can't confirm this through scientifical means, it turns out that running is one hell of a hangover remedy.
When it comes to the evil force known as the hangover my cure has always been Alka-Seltzer Morning Relief - which is quite possibly proof there is a god and he wants me to be happy, and Vitamin Water Revive, which I'm 72% sure was designed specifically for me. As the bottle says:
“if you woke up tired, you probably need more sleep. if you woke up drooling at your desk, you probably need a new job. if you woke up with a headache, on a ferris wheel at the Idahostate fair , wearing a toga, you probably need answers, not to mention this product. it’s got potassium and b vitamins to help you recover and feel refreshed – kinda like in those old irish spring commercials.”
That's pretty much exactly how I roll.
But instead of laying around in my own filth and self loathing I did 8 super fulfilling miles of running that turned out to be one of the best ideas ever.
You'd think that with a bloodstream filled with Jack on the rocks and red wine the last thing you'd want to do is bound around through the streets of NYC, but it turns out that the whole sweat it out thing isn't just a myth. I never actually reached the head pounding near death stage - skipping it entirely for super happiness and good times. Does this mean I'm going to run off all hangovers? Highly unlikely. But it is something to consider for the next time I get drink myself half retarded and totally don't want to move.
Pictures from the run...