When the alarm sounded at 3:30 a.m. on Sunday, I dragged out of bed and geared up for 18 miles. Driver seemed to be doing better, but I had some peeplaces to clean up. Not so much fun at that (or any) hour. I got in a solo 6 miles, then hit the roads with the Fleet Feet folks for the remaining 12 miles - soaking wet. It was THAT humid. I drove home and discovered that Driver was feeling worse and trying to pee everywhere. Again, not so much fun.
I cleaned up the peeplaces, washed my hands, rewashed my hands, ate some food, showered, and then wanted to crash, as is my custom. However, given Driver's growling (and pee attempts), I was debating bringing him back into the vet (that decision is actually harder when it's someone else's critter).
Anyway, I ended up throwing on a sleep shirt, compression socks, and crashing for an hour at a time, waking up to syringe some water into Driver's mouth and clean up pee, then crash for another hour, then awaken to reevaluate the situation. I totally looked like the crazy old cat lady in my attire and actions. Sigh - but, I tell you what, those ugly knee socks REALLY help to reduce post-long-run calf cramps! Crazy old cat ladies may have something there.
Anyway, by Sunday night, my legs were cramp-free, and Driver seemed to be improving, so I decided not to revisit the vet - which would just stress him (and aggravate his condition).
And, this morning, I figured that he must be feeling better when I caught him conspiring with Gwen the Pitoodle on some sort of escape plan.
Thank goodness I only have 2 long (20 milers) left and thank goodness the fostercatdaddy is coming to retrieve Driver between the two runs.