The Time I Got Pooped On While Running

So….that pretty much sums it up.

If you need more proof that this was the worst run ever, I’ll backtrack a bit. I wasn’t in the mood to run yesterday. I had such a successful long run on Saturday I was planning on carrying that momentum w/ me to power me through Broad Street on Sunday. Good idea, yes? Not really. Hence my plan to do two short runs this week.

I mapped out a sweet 5.2 mile course around my neighborhood. I got home and changed into my running clothes before I could convince myself to skip the run, because I was dangerously close to parking myself on the couch with a sleeve of Thin Mints.

I left my house, crossed the street, and turned on my iPod to start the run. Nothing. My iPod of choice to run with is the square shuffle that has a little clip that’s perfect for clipping to your shorts.

best running iPod ever

The only downside is that there’s no screen and no indication of how much battery life is left. I can never remember that last time I charged it, so it’s always a gamble when I take it out for a run that it might crap out in the middle of a song. But not enough power to turn on before the run even starts? Not a good sign. I looked across the street at my house and decided it was too late to turn back now (like that scene in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle when one of them forgets their cell phone in their apartment when they’re waiting for the elevator, and the camera does a slow pan of the hallway and they’re like, “We’ve come too far.” Yup, that’s exactly what happened).

I figured I could try running w/out music. It’s not normally my thing, but I’ll try anything once (except cave diving – that shit is no joke).

It. Was. Awful. I can’t even express how terrible the first half mile was. I decided right away that I would be cutting the route short and would be lucky to get three miles in.

A mile or so in, I actually started enjoying myself. Okay, maybe that’s an overstatement. But the run was definitely sucking less than when I started. It’s like after you overcome the initial struggle, you’re so impressed by your awesomeness and the fact that you didn’t give up, that your pride keeps you going for at least a good mile or so. After that high wore off, I was ready to give my iPod another shot. Maybe it was a fluke the first time and there was still some juice left in it. I tried it again, but it was still a no-go.

When I clipped it back on my pants, I noticed something on my hand. I figured it was pollen or something blowing around in the wind and tried to brush it off. It wasn’t wiping away that easily, and I stopped in my tracks. What the fuck…

I still don’t know how it happened. Did a bird poop on my hand? Did it poop in my hair and I got it on my hand while I was adjusting my ponytail? How did I not feel anything land on my hand? WHY THE FUCK IS THERE SHIT ON MY HAND??! I stopped in front of a lawn and wiped my hands in the grass. It wasn’t like it was caked on my fingers, but the fact that it was there at all was beyond gross.

You know what? I finished that damn run. Not in record time (stopping to wipe the poop off my hand really put a damper on my time), but I ran those 5.2 miles. Am I gross b/c I didn’t run home to immediately wash my hands? Probably. Am I proud of myself anyway? You know it.