Sunday, March 1, 2009

oh crap.

I love posting to my blog. My friend Natalie tells me that I have the Blogger's Disease because when traumatizing, embarrassing and ridiculous things happen to me my first thought is "God, I have to blog about that." So here's the latest addition to "Only in the Life of Jessie":

I don't think I realized how many poop-related phrases there were out there. I don't give a shit, tough crap, shit happens, that's crappy, shit a brick - I could probably name a few others. However, these have taken on a special meaning since yesterday's run. The plan was to do five miles, and I was feeling great. It was nice to be free of the treadmill and run outside. I was running, feeling great and rocking out to Miley's version of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" (I should be ashamed of this, yet I am not). I felt something on my pants and shirt and I figured I had just kicked some dirt up so I brushed it away with my hand. Alas, it was not dirt. It was dog shit. And it was not only on my pants and back of my shirt, but all over my hands as well. It took my brain a couple of seconds to process what was happening and when I did, my first reaction was to gag and cry. At this point I was exactly a mile away from home and I realized that I could stand there and cry with dog poop all over my hands and clothing, or I could run home with dog poop all over my hands and clothing. So I ran. And it was by far the fastest mile I've ever run.

When I got back to the apartment I ran into the bathroom, completely ignored my roommate who was watching movies in the living room, jumped into the shower and proceeded to scrub my body with scalding water for as long as I could stand it. I called my dad, a fellow runner, to tell him about my traumatizing run and his only response was "well, that's pretty crappy Jess." Everyone's a freakin' comedian these days.

Well that would have come in handy yesterday afternoon. Sonofabitch.

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