As runners we are all familiar with the concept of the "puke threshold." Those times when you push yourself hardest, to the point of puking.

Reaching the puke threshold is kind of a pride thing.

What's not a pride thing is reaching the puke threshold because your lunch from four hours prior is not sitting well.

Story of my run last night.

I'm going along at a nice easy pace, clocking my first mile in 9:48, enjoying the weather not worrying about speed.

Then the stomach gurgles start.

Every time my left foot hits the ground, stomach acid churns angrily, trying to work its way up my esophagus.

Maybe it's the hill, I'm thinking.

Why does this only happen when my left foot lands?

Oh gosh the downhill is making it worse.

Hey, look there's a garbage can maybe I should stop.

No, no I just need to walk for a bit til my stomach settles.

So walk I did. But my stomach wasn't really settling.

Refusing to be deterred I started a slow easy jog. And then started walking again.

After that I took every short cut I know to get back home. I didn't puke, but I am cursing that portobello mushroom sandwich I ate at my work conference yesterday. Seriously, I thought picking the vegetarian option would be better for me. I'm betting it was the oil (there was quite a bit) or the balsamic style dressing. Major conference lunch fail.