The 9th Mile.
It was during the 9th mile of the (only) half marathon I've ever ran when the nausea started to creep in, and I knew I had a choice to make: to feel sick or not to feel sick. An emetophobic since childhood, deciphering between anxiety and actual symptoms of the one illness I fear most is an all-too-familiar task and one that I've (mostly) come to master. Four miles still ahead, I did what any anxiety-prone runner would do-turned up the volume on MJ's Man in the Mirror and focused my thoughts on brunch, beaches and anything but the stomach flu. Enjoy!
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