That’s what I call a shite run (if you’re easily grossed out or are offended by poo related profanities please don’t read any further).

This is another tale of two runs, really, and the theme is poo. Last Thursday I headed up the Valley to meet my friend K for a run. It was a good run but I had a gingerbread man trampolining my innards. What I mean is I really thought I was going to have to make like a bear and shit in the woods. I did actually dive into the undergrowth a couple of times but once I stopped running the urge left me (until I started running again). 

Fastforward to this week. When I got home I drank a strong coffee, perched upon the porcelain throne and by the time I headed to the Valley I was feeling pretty confident I wouldn’t be caught out – success!

The drive, like last week, was tense – the mist was pretty thick and the ford I have to cross managed to appear out of the fog and surprise me. As per usual  I took my dog, Brin, with me. Within the first mile she’d happily made like a bear twice and as I am nothing if not a responsible dog owner, those poops were bagged and ready to swipe on the run back to the car. Even poo number two, which a less vigilant owner probably would have left. (I did warn you there would be poo chat!)

About a mile in we could hear people, see lights and hear dogs barking. Now, apart from the fact Brin rarely barks, that doesn’t sound too dissimilar to the two of us out running with headtorches and a dog, but K and I both just got a really bad vibe and we didn’t feel happy to run on and end up in the midst of whatever was going on. We decided to turn back to the car and, of course, I swiped up the poo bags on the way back.

Knowing our run had been cut considerably short and feeling slightly cheated, I was getting set to stop my watch as the gate and the cars came into view. As I passed the poo bags from my right hand into my left so I could stop my watch, one of the bags caught on a metal part of my canicross belt and burst. Eeew!

What I didn’t appreciate immediately was just quite how much sloppy dog SHIT (the second one that I was debating the value of even lifting!) had splattered about my person – primarily my hi-viz jacket.

Boke.

Thank goodness we were virtually back at the car, which luckily contains baby wipes. K kindly helped me out and passed the (unplanned) extreme test of friendship with truly flying colours! When I took off my jacket and folded it in on itself insult was added to injury as I discovered the lovely Brin had chewed through the interior to try and access food in the back pocket (thank goodness I didn’t put my keys in there). 

After worrying so much last week that I was going to end up with porridge pants, I did not think for one moment that I would end up covered in crap tonight. Gross, gross, gross!

K and I usually hug at the end of our runs. Funnily enough we gave it a miss tonight.

We ended up doing a meagre two miles – both literally and figuratively a shitty run tonight.

Oh and by the way, none of the shite ended up on Brin – the wee jacket chewing sod got off scot-free.Image

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4 thoughts on “That’s what I call a shite run (if you’re easily grossed out or are offended by poo related profanities please don’t read any further).

  1. Pingback: A mountain of a marathon | Life, harp, harp, life?

  2. Pingback: Eugh, then inevitable hinky thing happened. | Confessions of a chubby ultra runner

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