Not a Stick

So, on Monday I knew I needed to run again after my pathetic attempt on Saturday's long run. I went out on the W&OD after work, around 4:45pm, for a 5-mile run through my preferred short course.

Running this route is as familiar to me now as driving through the streets of the neighborhood I grew up in, I think I could do either with my eyes closed. I get on at mile marker 27.5 and run west. The first mile is flat and open to the sun for about 3/4 of a mile, then up a hill. At the start of the second mile I cross over the bridge, then down the hill, and into a flat segment shaded by the tree canopy. It is quiet until the end of the second mile when the trail crosses over a busy road crowded with drivers who beep their horn at cars that stop to allow runners and cyclists to cross. The third mile is my favorite. It starts just past the busy road with the hurried drivers, and it becomes quiet and peaceful. There are no houses or roads through this stretch, and the only sounds are those of birds and bicycles. Through the woods, mostly open to the sun with patches of shade, past the cow pasture and the rock quarry, over the bridge, between the black fences, and over a second bridge if running six miles instead of five. Not only have I memorized the precise location of every mile marker post and slightest shift in elevation, I have also memorized every detail of the horse trails that run parallel to the paved trail.

On Monday, I decided to run the horse trails. It had been raining and cloudy all day long as I looked out of my classroom window, but by the time I went out to run it was sunny and cool, with the first hints of fall in the air. It was a really nice run. It didn't feel like work at all, I was keeping a good pace, breathing easy, and actually enjoying the sounds of my shoes as they crunched into the micro-gravel with each step. The horse trails are more hilly, more shaded, and a more intimate run as you are usually completely alone with a tree and brush barrier separating you from the parallel paved trail. I turned around 2.5 miles out and headed back.

About 1.5 miles into the return run I saw a stick in the middle of the trail. Uh, and then it moved. It was not a stick. Clearly it was a snake. Many years ago I liked to think of myself as someone that would react quickly and decisively in high-stress situations, but I have proven on at least two prior occasions that my actual reaction is to freeze. I can't speak. I can't move. I can't do anything. Everything slows down, except my mind which is racing, yet completely unresponsive. The stupid snake is slithering around in the middle of the trail. I am staring at it, frozen. I don't move forward, don't move backward. I am completely paralyzed , or so I thought. Apparently all bodily functions are not frozen, the bladder for instance. Yeah, as the snake slithered around on the trial, I had peed in my pants. Not a drop or two. I literally pissed my pants.

So now I am standing in the middle of the trail, with wet shorts and socks, unable to get to the paved trail without crossing through the snake-infested brush, and afraid to go forward less it be a trap set up by the little slithering evil beast waiting for me to run by so it can attack my ankles. At long last I realized that I was not going to get home unless I finished the run, so I ran out the last mile, still on the horse trail, praying the whole way that no one would be running behind me. Then I drove home in a sports bra because I was sitting on my shirt.