I can barely walk

The thing they don't tell you about the adrenaline rush is that you come down from it.

Yesterday -- the day of the awards show -- was just a nonstop day.  I met my co-producer for what was supposed to be our final strategy session at a deli at 2:00.... except I was a half hour late due to three little producing crises beyond my control.  So I show up and scarf down some potato latkes (surely the Breakfast of Producers) and we get to the theatre at 3:00 and ....

.... I don't want to say it was a blur.  That's not right.  I remember every minute.  But it was non-stop until about 12:30 in the morning when we finally loaded up my car (good thing I have that SUV), made one last sweep around the theatre to make sure we didn't forget anything, and hit the road.

Non-stop.  Running.  Up and down stairs.  Backstage.  Front of house.  Auction.  Caterer.  Bartender.  Moment to schmooze.  Moment to meet someone.  Back to work.  Every once in a while, I'd pop my head into another room and ask, "Is someone not working?" because I'd always have a job for them.

Around 6:00, I ran backstage and slipped on my dress for the evening.  And my high heels.  I only had about five minutes to do this (someone had run off to find someone else for me -- so it would be nice if I was there when they got back), but it was a free five minutes and I wasn't sure when I'd see so many minutes together again with nothing filling them.  So I took off my street clothes, threw on my dress.  Tried to put on hose -- stuck my finger right through them.  I had a spare pair but I was running out of time.  Just threw on the shoes and ran.  No time for makeup.  No time to fix the hair.  Just clothing.  And shoes.

Ran back upstairs.  Met people.  Organized people.  Organized things.  Doors opened around 6:20 and there was suddenly more to do.  I noticed the caterer had set out some tasty food, but I couldn't partake.  It wasn't so much the TIME thing, but I couldn't envision myself tying up both hands by holding a fork and plate.  I was carrying around pre-marked programs for our presenters and flashlights for our escorts, and my Magic List of What I Had To Do -- I couldn't put that down for mere FOOD.

Left the caterer's check in the pocket of my jeans in the dressing room.  Back downstairs, find check, back upstairs.  At some point I realized I had ONE hand to spare for sustenance, so the bartender poured me a Coke (and kept 'em coming). 

I presented the first award of the evening, which was a good thing, because by then, my feet were killing me.  I was never going to finish all that running in high heels, so I hobbled back downstairs and put my comfy shoes and socks back on.  I didn't entirely care about the image this presented.  No make-up; hair flying everywhere -- what difference would shoes make?  (Besides, it was a very eye-catching dress.  Hopefully, nobody would notice my footwear.)

More running.  I watched a lot of the show from my seat, but also had a lot of things to do so timed my escapes carefully and ran all around the theatre for the next few hours.  Never hungry, never tired.  And now that the shoes were comfy again, no problem there.

Got home around 1:00 a.m.  Unloaded my car (took two trips from the garage).  1:30, I'm on the couch.  Still not tired.  Still not hungry.  Still flying on the adrenaline.  Posted to the journal.  Watched "24."

Finally got to sleep around 3:30.  Alarm went off four hours later.  Morning.  Work.  I can handle this. 

It didn't REALLY hit me until about, oh, 4:00 today.  I'd thought it was just that I hadn't gotten much sleep last night, so I was having trouble concentrating on work.  But it wasn't that.  My feet hurt.  My legs hurt.  My whole body is wobbly.  I had to pause for a rest break coming up the stairs to my condo. 

Now that all the excitement was completely out of my system, my body has finally decided to tell me what it thought about me running around non-stop for damn near ten hours yesterday.  

It is not amused.