Two Sundays ago I crashed after running 18 miles as part of my Marines Corps Marathon training and was trying to nap.
I limped downstairs into the kitchen and told Bob my legs were twitchy.
"I'm so exhausted but can't fall asleep."
"Have a shot of Old Bushmills," Bob said.
"A real shot."
It was 2 o'clock.
"No sipping."
I poured myself a glass of whiskey and drank it. In one shot.
Read MoreI reconnected over the summer with a woman I first met when I was living outside San Francisco and our daughters had become friends. We were having coffee in Palo Alto late one afternoon when she told me she had lupus.
The subject came up because she was apologizing for meeting me in her workout clothes as she was just coming from the gym.
Really? Everyone in Palo Alto looks like they're in exercise clothes.
She told me that one of the ways she copes with bouts of extreme pain in her joints is by exercising regularly.
This memory popped into my head a few weeks ago as I woke up after sleeping nearly 12 hours. The last of my Thanksgiving guests had left late on that Saturday, and I practically passed out within minutes.
My plan had been to do a longish run that Sunday morning, but when I stepped out of bed, my sides and lower back were so sore and stiff that I nearly crept down the stairs to make myself a cup of coffee.
I assumed I had suffered a sleeping injury by being in bed so long.
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