An exercise - 1

Beth discovered the site for "The Ultimate Blogger" this evening and, naturally, made sure to make me aware of it. Basic premise for those less link-prone: A series of "assignments" judged in a series of eliminations. Think "Survivor: Blogdom."

While I can't be considered for the actual competition, I thought the premise was interesting and have decided to do one entry a day, following the assignments. Thought it would be interesting to see what I come up with. So, that said, here's the first assignment. And let me preface my post with the fact that this was damn difficult - but necessary - to write.

VAPID VITTLES: We started off the competition referencing some of the worst blog-posts out there; the ones about food.

Popping the pill had been no problem, the same process undertaken the previous four nights. No side effects had surfaced yet, although I was looking forward to the next night's venture into Adams Morgan. Caroline had told me I was completely safe drinking alcohol on this medication and, in fact, would gain an advantage: instant lightweight!

Nestled under the covers of my bed, I realized I wasn't tired. Read a book. Did some writing. Felt unusually warm, so got out of bed to turn on the fan. Thought about calling a friend until I realized it was after midnight. Finally, with a resigned sigh, I turned off the lights, rolled over and closed my eyes, hoping the rest of my body would take the hint.

Then I tried to swallow.

Two years later, and I've still little to compare the sensation to. It started as a tickle in my throat. Within what felt like seconds, it became a sore throat, a swelled throat and, as I tossed and turned, a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck. I turned the light back on and sat up in panic.

In a couple of minutes, I wasn't going to be able to breath. My cheeks were flushed, my forehead burned and my mouth was completely dry. I wasn't going to be able to breath.

(I should note that my one persistent fear has been strangulation. And here I was, about to inadvertently suffocate myself. Great.)

I picked up the phone and dialed. Two rings before a muffled voice picked up on the other end.

"Muhm? I cand swallowe. I thdind der's someding wrong wid me."

"What's wrong?" As if I could carry on an in-depth conversation at that point - and as if she would understand anything I was saying.

I muddled through a muffled synopsis. Something was wrong with my medicine. It hadn't done this before. My roommates were asleep, I was going to die on the phone with my mother and I was scared shitless.

"Have you tried drinking some water?"

Actually, no. Good idea.

I kept the phone cradled against my ear as I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. My face was pale, save a red splotch on each cheek. My eyes looked unusually bright and wide as they stared back at me.

"Muhm, I'm really freaded oud."

"Drink some water."

I did. It went down, but accomplished nothing. It only made my throat burn worse.

"Did you take too much of your medication tonight?"

"Doed id madder righd now? I did whad she told me do do. I thind I need do go do da hodpidal."

I crawled back into bed, wishing my mother was in the room with me so she could hold my hand. I'd missed home before, of course, but tonight realized how distant her voice sounded on the other end of the conversation. She couldn't get to me now if she wanted to - and she wouldn't get to me now that I needed her to.

This is when the tears came.

"Shh, it's going to be fine," she said in her special mother voice. "Do you have any popsicles?"

"Dno. I thind maybe my roommades do." Why the hell would I have one of those? I didn't eat that kind of stuff anymore. Apples were dessert. Healthy, natural fruit. None of that artificial sugar shit.

"OK, listen to me." She spoke slowly and deliberately. I wanted to tell her that I was suffocating, not losing my hearing, but realized I'd have to repeat myself numerous times before she could decipher my words. Not worth the effort. "Go into the kitchen, get a popsicle and come back to bed. Eat it and you'll feel better. If you don't, call me back. Actually, if you do, try calling me back before you go to sleep. I'll wait up."

"Oday."

"I love you. You'll be alright. Be calm. Call me back."

I hung up and began crying harder. I couldn't have a popsicle. It was after 9 p.m.

Ah, there's the rub. In order to counteract this reaction to the medication, I needed to eat more food than I'd expected that day. But I was taking the medication because I was scared to death of eating more food.

I hadn't exercised extra that day. I wouldn't be able to exercise more the next day because I was going out that night. Unless I went out a little later. Or woke up extra early.

I decided to not eat the popsicle. I rolled over and forced my eyes closed.

Half a minute later, I was creeping through the dark hallway, across the living room - tripping over the damn armchair for the upteenth time - and into the kitchen. I sighed upon seeing the box of frozen fruit bars.

Hey, it was all natural. Frozen strawberries and juice. This wouldn't kill me.

I scurried back through the darkness and jumped into bed. Unwrapped the fruit bar and stared at it a moment before taking a bite. If I was doing this, I would get it over with as quickly as possible.

I felt the cold ice move down my throat, past the scratches and the dull ache. But it didn't do anything to make the pain go away. Another bite, followed by another, until I was left with only a wooden stick.

For five minutes, I cried the hardest yet. It hadn't helped and now I had all these unnecessary calories in my body.

Finally, the realization. My throat felt slightly better. I cleared my throat tentatively. My voice sounded husky, but improved.

I dialed the phone. "Mom, it's me. I'm OK. And sorry. Sleep well. I love you."

"Call me tomorrow. I love you. Bye."

"Bye."

I placed the phone carefully on the nightstand, turned out the light and rolled over.

I'd just do an extra 50 crunches the next morning.