I threw up on my shoes.
I threw up on my shoes behind a bush on the sidewalk at the side of the road on the campus of Point Loma Nazarene University in the rain.
And when I finished wretching, and I mean not just a little, I realized my new friend Seth was standing over me, holding an umbrella so I could vomit with some dignity.
I'm pretty sure that wasn't included in the training manual for the Speaker Hosts of the event. "Should your guest become inordinately and ridiculously sick at a moment's notice, please pull over and keep the umbrella close. And when she is finished, her hair will be matted and wet from the rain, strands sticking to her face. Her mascara will be racoonish and running down her face in streams. Please do not comment on this atrocity." Seth was a pro. You'd think he had done all this before with someone, somewhere.
This is all quite unbelievably true.
I am prone to migraine headaches. And this one took me down for the count on what just happens to be a weekend I've been waiting for everyday for the last many months and probably most of my life if I'm honest.
The thing is, it's not nerves. And the greater thing is that my pride won't let anyone think it was nerves. I was so ready for this! My head and heart - fully engaged and ready to kick this thing. Instead, I have spent today in my hotel room with the lights out, the shades drawn, a pillow over my head, listening to The Runaway Bride on Netflix.
This isn't how this was going to go. It isn't.
(And this definitely is NOT how this is going to end.)