Let me warn you: I’m about to go into some potentially disgusting, disturbing, cringe comedy, ew-making talk about running. With pictures. So if you’re distressed by hearing about gross things, or about running, I’d advise you not to read further. There’s a little bit of less-gross stuff first, but when you get past that, well, on your own head be it, you delicate little flowers.But first, the positive. This year I’ve been noticing during my runs that the sweat is stinging my eyes really badly. It’s something I’ve really never noticed before, but it’s been happening this year. So, I tried using a sweatband for the first time ever, and happily, it worked. It happened to be the band from the Milwaukee Spartan race last year, both because it’s the only sweatband I currently own and because I needed another strike against my still-fundamentally-sound assertion that I don’t particularly care about race bling. (I am a contradiction wrapped in a lie wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a wrapper.)
The rest of the run, unfortunately, was a bit problematic. I was not even a kilometer out (I run metric, because Zombies, Run will announce every kilometer or every mile if you set it to, and kilometers are shorter so I get more announcements) when I fell. For absolutely no reason. I was by the lakefront (and across the street from a cemetery), and running next to the sidewalk, because the sidewalk there is pretty uneven. There have been enough runners running next to it to wear out a path in the dirt, so I’m not the first with that idea. And, for no apparent reason, I faceplanted.
I’m happy to report that I didn’t let that stop me, or even slow me down much, but (although I didn’t realize it at the time) I did get some nice bleedy dirty road rash on both knees and one palm. Still, I had a run to do, and I was hoping to make it a good long endurance run, so I had to keep going.
It all went fairly well until I got about 4 kilometers in. And then, I felt a certain rumbling in the backside. I tried to run through it, but you know that never works, and by 5K it was threatening to develop into full-blown, explosive trots that could wipe out a small city.
Fortunately enough, I wasn’t too far from a functioning toilet (most of the ones along my path are still closed for the winter), so I went in. There was someone in the stall, which was unpleasant, but it gave me a chance to wash out the parts of me that I hadn’t actually realized were bleeding. Before long, the toilet flushed… and the guy stayed in there for another minute or so, which was awkward. But eventually, I was able to evacuate my bowels, and probably force the toilet to be evacuated as well. I didn’t take a picture, because there are some lines that oughtn’t be crossed.
I was feeling better, and in fact decided to finish off my planned 9K. It actually went pretty well, until I was almost home. Directly across from that same cemetery as before, in fact. And then, in exactly the same place, and for exactly the same lack of reason, I fell again.
Here’s the proof.
And note, those are cleaned-out versions.
I’m pretty sure I’m fine—I was pretty much bathing in Neosporin for a little while after that, and there were a few days where the scabs and skin regrowing around the wounds felt like they were about three sizes too small, but they’re feeling OK now, and hopefully they won’t affect the race I’m doing this weekend. But if there are any problems, you know exactly what I’ll be blaming.