Commuter Chronicle #10 - Going for Gold

Lennon and McCartney scribed in 'A Day in the Life'

"Woke up"
"Got out of bed"
"Dragged a comb across my head"
...and if I had a chance to enhance those lyrics, I would simply add,

"Then I puked all over the stainless steel toilet on my train"

What an exciting morning in hindsight. Me and my very own norovirus. Me and my new friend were about to play host to my very own gastroenteritic Olympics, trumpets and all.
To host your own intestinal olympiad, you need to start by selecting a mascot. Every Olympics has its own cute little symbol. Remember Misha, that cuddly little Russian teddy bear who symbolized the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. And then there was Sam the Eagle, The United States' entry for the 1984 games. Involuntarily, I chose a single-stranded RNA virus named Noro. Noro is of the caliciviridae taxonomic family which makes him small, round and very contagious. So cute, you could just eat him up.

With Noro the RNA Strand selected as my mascot, it was time for the opening ceremonies. In an artistic explosion of color and pageantry, I proceeded to open the games. After a brief march down the aisle of the passenger car, I made it to rest room at the end of the train. Ceremoniously, I opened the door, slid it shut and marked it as occupied. After one brief look into the stainless tank of jostling blue liquid, the games began. No torch lighting, no anthems... There just wasn't time for such formalities. After a few dry heaves, the tank was christened and I was in the medal round. The train made its next stop and I staggered off and headed back to my parked car... 1 mile away back at the Ridgewood station. I was in these games to win.

Understanding that stomach and intestine inflammation was kicking in, I began feeling some pretty intense abdominal pains. The speed events had started. I picked up the pace and made it back to the car in about 2o minutes. Not quite gold medal time but impressive. In my car, I felt more pain. But this was about pride. I was not going to let myself down. I hit every light and slow rolled through every stop sign until I reached the driveway. 12 minutes! World record time! Another event in the books and another about to start.

Sprint Sitting is an event that is pretty simple. You run to a bathroom, close the door and then you sit. It is more like synchronized swimming than a classic track and field event. Form, grace, precision and placement play a large part. I took the silver.

My closing ceremonies were uneventful. No lasers, no exploding spheres and no silver midgets in helmets walking on stilts. It was enough just to end the games themselves. My body hid the scars of competition. The sore abs, the dry mouth, the pounding headache and the loss of appetite. If relief was an award, it was my gold medal. Closing the games came quick and without fanfare. After starting the games with a heave and a bang, Noro made his final departure as well. I am sure he is happy somewhere, probably splashing around in some diluted sludge digestion tank in Newark, NJ right about now... infecting some poor plant worker's exposed body.

Better start stretching tough guy, the games are about to begin.