How to ruin a marathon with one meal

The text message from my cousin Tracy, at 1:19 a.m., read, "Oh no!! Authentic San Antonio Mexican food is not something to mess with.  I hope you are ok."

Gloria and I love Mexican food; and while Tracy's statement may be true, we were under its thrall on Friday and Saturday.  At home in Parsippany, NJ, we have some excellent Mexican food places (Maddy's Mexican Grill!) that are far more authentic than (and superior to) the big chain restaurants. But this was San Antonio - less than 170 miles from the Mexican border - in the state that put the "Tex" in "Tex-Mex"!  How do we resist the call?

Let us not forget, also, that we had spent a day and a half in the car and we were craving any kind of real food. So, on Friday night, we ate outside on the deck at a fast-casual Tex-Mex place (a small franchise called Mama Margie's), enjoying the beautiful, balmy weather; and we planned on leaving it at that. On Saturday, we traversed the River Walk, drank a few beers, and had a light lunch at an Irish pub, planning to eat a traditional runner's meal of pasta at a local Italian restaurant.  But since you find about as many decent Italian restaurants in San Antonio as you do decent Mexican restaurants in Parsippany, we found ourselves being pulled back under the spell of burritos and enchiladas, landing at El Rodeo, a seriously authentic little joint. 

The instant I finished my bean and cheese enchiladas, I was filled with regret.  There was a bomb of not-easily-digestible food in the pit of my stomach and it was not going anywhere anytime soon.  It felt like there was a pound of cheese in my tummy, and I was suddenly reminded of how the three slices of cheesy pizza before the Fortitude for First Descendants Marathon led to my worst marathon ever, which involved vomiting in the 26th mile. 

So after a couple of failed attempts of trying to induce vomiting (a horrible experience, even in failure - how do bulimics do this??) and a general freak-out that included a little bit of crying and a lot of whining, I finally accepted the fact that I had to live with my boneheaded choice of a pre-race meal.  While Gloria slept peacefully (I was so jealous!!), I slipped out to find the nearest convenience store where I could buy some Tums at 1 a.m.  

But first, I had to send a message to my cousins to let them know not to expect me at the finish line in 3:03.  So at 1:12 a.m., my message to Tracy that prompted the aforementioned reply read:

"I'm readjusting my finish goal and expecting to finish closer to 3:30. I made some bad food choices and now my tummy hurts, so it's going to be a tough race. 😭"

After finally finding a 24-hour convenience store, I got back to bed around 2 a.m., hoping against hope that the Tums would do their thing and relieve my aching stomach.