You would take a day off after nearly going No. 2 at work; Francisco Lindor did not

You’re the kind of person who likes to go to work every day.

But yesterday you had to leave early because you thought you might go No. 2 at your work station. Then you needed an IV. When you finally made it home, your spouse deposited you in a separate bedroom, and left you with a care package comprised of water, Pedialyte, Tylenol and a bag, just in case.

You hardly slept. In the morning, your manager placed no pressure on you whatsoever to show. What do you do?

That is an easy one. You take the day. Stay home. Rest up. Get back at it tomorrow.

“Nah, nah, nah, nah,” Francisco Lindor, his eyes glassy, said at his Citi Field locker after pushing through a nasty stomach virus play hero in Thursday’s 7-6, 11-inning Mets win over the Chicago Cubs.

“I take too much pride in this.”

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t have been granting interviews with a tummy that was still cramping. Nor would I have asked – asked! – to face major league pitching or play shortstop after a night like that.

Athletes really are made of different material than normal people. It’s the pain tolerance. If we fouled a 99-mph fastball ball off our shin, we would crumple to the ground and cry for our mommies. Ditto for getting drilled in the back with said heater.

Ever go to a bar with a big leaguer, even an older one? They’re capable of going two rounds for your every one. Then they’ll wake at dawn and hit the gym, while you’re lying in bed, moaning. How do they do it?

Within that world of physical toughness, Lindor stands out. This can be hard to spot at first, because he does not bother with superficial macho imagery. He is Mr. Smile, not Mr. Sneer. He dresses stylishly and dies his hair purple.

Toughness – real mental and physical toughness – manifests in actions. Like playing 150 games or more in five separate seasons (and the full 60 in the COVID-shortened 2020).

If Lindor slams his finger in a door, fracturing it, he’ll be back at shortstop two days later. If he hurts his elbow during spring training, as SNY once reported that he did in 2023, he will keep it a secret all season and undergo surgery to remove bone spurs at the end.

This is not to say that gritting it out and suffering in silence is always a healthy approach. It’s not a good idea for many people, and many situations.

But in order to know Francisco Lindor specifically, you must know the depth of the importance he places on showing up for work every day, no matter how he feels.

That is why, when Joey Wendle replaced Lindor at shortstop early in Wednesday’s game, one’s mind raced to worst-case scenarios. If this guy is willing to grip a bat with a broken finger and throw across the infield with a barking elbow, he wouldn’t be asking out of a game unless it was serious.

Well, it was serious. Just not in a lasting, injured list way.

“I know my body,” Lindor said. “I know when I can push through and when I can’t. It wasn’t the time for me to push through that one, because I was either going to throw up at shortstop or do No. 2 at shortstop.”

As spectators, we’re all grateful he didn’t do either, especially the latter. But his belly has been rumbling since the Mets were on the West Coast last week, and the Mets were passing around a stomach virus (he’s not the only one to push through it; just the one to have it bad enough to narrowly avoid an accident on the infield). Lindor’s wife and children had it, too.

On Wednesday afternoon, it got worse. Taking pregame swings, Lindor thought, “Well, today’s going to be a different day.”

He started the game, then had to ask out of it. He couldn’t get himself home until around 11:30.

Almost exactly 12 hours later, I passed Lindor in the hallway outside the clubhouse as he walked in – later than usual for a day game, because he was moving so much slower.

“How you feeling?”

“Better,” he said. He sounded weaker than usual, but he was moving around.

A few minutes after that, the training staff told manager Carlos Mendoza that Lindor wanted to play. He wanted to what now? Okay…

Preparation, Lindor said, was the main difference between playing healthy and playing ill. “It just takes a little longer to prepare,” he said. “It takes a little bit more time to get going, to get your body ready for that first pitch you see.”

In the sixth inning, the staff told Lindor that if Jeff McNeil reached base, he would pinch-hit for Wendle. McNeil reached on an error. Harrison Bader singled. Lindor entered and drove them both in.

In the 11th, with the Mets trailing by one, he won the game with a two-run double.

How did he feel after?

“I’m … tired,” Lindor said with a weary smile. “But happy that I was able to contribute to the team win today.”

Soon after he dressed and prepared to get an airplane bound for Tampa.

A plane? Seriously? With a still-rumbling stomach? What are these people made of, anyway?