Woke up the day after my Capitola walk-swim-walk adventure feeling tired, headachy, a little queasy. It might have been a hangover except that I only had a single Dr. Funk at Hula's Tiki place, and it wasn't that strong. This was a feeling I knew well from Boo-Boo Kitty Syndrome, when it was my norm for months on end. I started to freak out. Did I overdo it? Mostly modest activity on 5 out of 6 days - was that too much? Or was it just the rigors of a little travel, a strange bed, a few hours in the car, not getting my usual oatmeal/fruit/walnut/yogurt brekkie? Or were those rigors part of the overdoing it? This sort of hypochondriacal second-guessing was also typical of BBKS, and believe me, it's more tedious to experience than it is to read about.
So I ditched the bike ride or vigorous walk in favor of the Big Poofy Chair and a morning of tennis and golf on the tube. I sound like a serious country club queen, but in reality I'm just a sports nut, and it all looks awesome in high-def. Morning stretched into afternoon and the Giants game (won handily, fortunately for my equilibrium), and I found myself feeling better, even a little restless.
Couldn't persuade Tim, but I lit out for the last day of the State Fair - couldn't pass up the calling of stinky livestock and fried foods. I perused the livestock show, admiring the enormous Dorset and Hampshire sheep, the pigs, the llamas (llama!), the horses, and the competent, low-key folks who cared for them and kept them clean and fluffy. I ate a corn dog of pornographic proportions. I saw portraits made of Jelly Bellys and exhibits of every California county's splendors. I saw fire artists, kaleidoscopes, chinchillas, lovebirds, cookware and mattresses. I watched a 13-year-old girl ride the mechanical bull with grace, rhythm, and determination, and a guy built like a defensive tackle almost win the basketball shooting game. I walked all over the massive fairgrounds, tired and footsore, but intoxicated with the silly fun.
Plus I was looking for the perfect deep-fried dessert. I had heard there were deep-fried Snickers bars, Twinkies, and Oreos. I never found the Snickers, but in the middle of the thousands of food stands, I did find one that offered both Twinkie and Oreo delights. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, Oreos. They arrived completely unrecognizable, covered in a half-inch of batter, sprinkles, and a little chocolate sauce. Wow. They looked very, very decadent, but they weren't that great. The cookie part got soggy and didn't contrast enough with the batter. They were just ok. I didn't even eat them all, but I ate enough to feel a little ill afterwards. But hey, it's the fair, ok?
Slogging back to the car, I calculated that I had been on my feet for about 2 hours and 45 minutes, and walking for at least 2 of those hours, albeit slowly. I was really beat when I got home, but not in a BBKS way, and although I doubt I burned anywhere near the calories I consumed in deep-fried Oreos alone, I did succeed in moving around outside. It wasn't my plan, and it was slow, but that's cool.