Who knew? Not me.

Blogger's note: The following post contains material that may lead readers to think of things that could be deemed as offensive.
I learned a valuable lesson tonight, the night of my five mile run with my Team in Training group:
Don't eat hot sauce the day of a run.
So I got to Valley Ranch -- that's in Irving, where the Dallas Cowboys have their HQ, and where the DFW Metro Running Team meets for Wednesday night run.
I chose that team because of that location. It's good for those of us who live or work in the middle of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex.
It's an easier location because it's in the mid-cities. My home team should have been in Fort Worth, but it's just too far, and VR is easier to get to Wednesday night run from Dallas during rush hour.
Essentially, it's like the halfway point between Dallas-Fort Worth (that's for you, Sammy).
Anyway, at lunch Wednesday, we bid farewell to an editor who is going to join the projects team, so we took him to lunch. He wanted chicken-fried steak, so we went to a steak place.
No pasta, no rice dishes, just meat -- grilled or fried.
I ordered a buffalo burger and some fries. Thought that would be safer than my usual grilled chicken salad with light dressing. I figured roughage wasn't the thing to order before my run.
I drank lots of water, ate my burger (which was yummy, despite the fact that I had to leave the jalapenos out) and fries.
I totally forgot about the chips and hot sauce before hand. Completely slipped my mind that I had had them, until they tried to make an introduction during my run.
I tried mind over matter, so to speak, then I just prayed.
And prayed.
And oh, God, did I pray.
It got me through, but along the route, there was really only one thing on my mind:

It just doesn't seem fair.
No one ever tells you this the day you join the team.