Running into Murphy

I suppose it's time I actually wrote a blog post detailing my daily life, as opposed to the usual review stuff that hardly qualifies this as a "web log" so much as a "vanity critics column". I was inspired to do so, quite frankly, by bowel trouble.

No, I did not shit on the Lincoln Memorial or anything so hilariously stupid as that. I'd best start at the beginning.

I like to think of myself as a thriving distance-runner fast approaching my first marathon (in reality, I'm still doing 5Ks, but half-marathons are definitely in the near future!), and so I try, every once in a while, to prove it by getting out of bed at an obscene hour (this particular morning it was 8:16-ish), lacing up my brand-spanking new New Balance neutral-cushioned boondoggle road running shoes ($80 on sale from Fleet Feet Sports), and, well, going out for a run. Actually, I try to finish at least 3-5 miles a day, in preparation for the upcoming school cross-country season (distances there vary between 3.1 and 3.7 miles, so they just call it 5K to make life easier). I'll go on at length about my extensive running past later.

Anyway, I do my little warm-up, stretch, and then BAM! I'm off like the wind, almost literally; it's probably the closest I've ever gotten to race pace in practice. Most runners I know will tell you that training as fast as you race is nigh impossible (at least, they should, otherwise I'm in trouble), so this was pretty amazing and awe-inspiring, so much so that I decided to, of all things, extend my planned short jog to its full extent (somewhere beyond 5 miles) to take advantage of this sudden boost in stamina.

And it worked. I ate those miles like Cream-o'-Wheat (which, btw, I've never had, always wondered what it tastes like, but it just sounds good here, so...); up hills, down hills, zigzagging through suburbia, past the old couples out for a walk and the occasional bicyclist (these tend to be the ones doing the passing, I'm afraid). Every once in a while, I'm graced with the view of some hot chick in a sports bra and miniskirt out for her own workout, but not today, which was fine by me - I was flying. I actually did sort of flap my arms going down one hill, got a honk from a passing motorist for that.

Anyway, back to the whole reason I'm writing an actual "web log" entry: so I'm coming up this last hill before this quarter-mile straightaway that I usually sprint home. I come off the hill, the burn in my legs kinda peaks and then lessens as my feet find level ground again, I go about a block and then - bleh.

Yup: my bowels spoke to me.

Not that I'm an intestine-whisperer or anything, but about then it hit me that I'd had oven-baked mandarin-orange chicken from Trader Joe's with brown rice and snow peas for dinner the night before, and I started to panic as I realized they (the chicken, rice, and peas, or what was left of them) wanted out, however was most convenient for them and least so for me.

So there I am, about another two blocks from my house (and a toilet!), my bowels coming unglued, sweat poring off me as I frantically guestimate whether or not I can hold it together for another five minutes, and I think: this would make a helluva blog entry. No kidding.

And for those of you who pooh-pooh the existence of Murphy, believe. Because I met his law in person.

As I'm waddling home, praying simultaneously that my boxers won't suddenly turn brown and that no cute girls suddenly decide to show up, my face feels wet. Thinking it to be sweat, I wipe my mouth, and look at the back of my hand. My nose is bleeding. Like, pouring.

All-in-all, not a bad morning. Sure, everything that could go wrong gastronomically almost did go wrong, plus the neighbors all think I've been mugged, but I got a near-perfect run (up 'til that moment) out of it, along with the reminder (in the form of a running high) that this is why we runners run. Despite the cramps and sores, the pain and injuries, the sweat and suffering, we hang in there for the run. It feels good, gives us that sense of accomplishment those high-falutin' team-building ropes courses always talk about, and that makes all the difference.

ManEating(and Running)Badger, signing off.

Oh, how could I forget? Here's to Lee (her blog, "Don't Bite Lee" (sounds like good manners), here: http://esaypoems.blogspot.com/) and her joyous and selfless recognition that a poor, lowly (and man-eating) badger commented on one of her posts. Please visit, and tell her the (man-eating) badger sent you ~!^ I'm so obsessed with that emoticon, I don't know why... anyway, her blog's great, I'd love to meet Lucy, I have a white lab-mix myself, Tanner (that's his name, I know, tons of imagination there) that I love to death despite that fact that I'm allergic to dogs. But I'll save all that for another day.

Cheers!