I ran over 10 miles on Saturday. WOO HOO!!! It’s the first time I’ve hit double digit miles in a single run, so it’s kind of a big deal to me. Come on, you know you want to stroke my ego right now. Not like that, perv.
I ran a double loop around Port Meadow and into the
Also along this route are the semi-famous pub (if you watch/read the Inspector Morse series) the Trout Inn and the 12th century ruins of Godstow Abbey. I will return one day with my camera so I can share photos with you guys and squash the comments of the skeptics about how picturesque Port Meadow is.
Now for the mishaps.
I seem to be incapable of reconciling the aerial images provided by MapMyRun.com with the on-the-ground perspective. I managed to miss the footbridge I was supposed to take off the canal walk which caused me to have to re-orientate myself once I was back on street level. There were another two wrong turns in Wolvercote but finally I found my way back onto my trail. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it sorted now, so I shouldn’t be making those mistakes again.
Halfway through the first loop my bladder let me know that it had reached full capacity. I knew I wasn’t going to make it the whole ten miles without a loo stop, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen until my second go-around. I didn’t understand the true urgency of the situation until after I had passed through Wolvercote and was back on the western canal trail. Luckily the other side of that canal path is slightly wooded, so, with my bad timing of just having passed a group of four trail walkers, I headed into the bushes to look for a suitable squatting spot.
The best available location had large trees with dense foliage on one side and some chest-high bushes on the other. So if someone happened to come across me in medias res, then at least they wouldn’t catch sight of any of my private bits, just my deer-in-the-headlights expression.
What I didn’t realize until I’d stepped into nature’s loo was that the bushes were nettles. Stopping abruptly, I took stock of the situation and realized that this was still the best place in respect to coverage, so I just sucked it up and made my way into the middle of them, squatted, dropped trow and did my thing.
After executing my patented ‘anti-dribble wiggle’, I was re-pantsed and out of there like a shot. Back on the trail, I passed the quartet of walkers once again, pretty damn sure they knew what I had been doing and that there was now some sort of scarlet letter emblazoned on my back stating that I was a public pee-er.
The final mishap occurred a third of the way into my second loop along the eastern canal path. Trotting next to narrow houseboats and people’s back gardens, my gastrointestinal system decided to make some noise. A rather loud noise. A quick look around confirmed there was no one within sight of me, but that didn’t mean people hadn’t heard what I had just done. It seemed a good time to have a chat with my colon.
Me: You couldn’t have done that when we were cocooned in the nettle bushes.
My colon (M.C.): Eh, I didn’t feel like it then.
Me: But there was no one else around then. There’s probably 20 people within earshot of us right now and you think this is a good place to let one loose?
M.C.: Heh, farts are funny.
Me: You’re such an asshole.
When I got back home, I did my usual stretches then decided to fill the bath with cold water. I settled in for a leisurely freeze-fest and distracted myself from the shivering by tallying the damage I had incurred over the last two hours.
There were new chafe marks on the underside of my boobage. (My need to buy new sports bras has reached situation critical, me thinks.) A toenail on my right foot had gouged into the side of the neighboring toe causing a wee bit of carnage. There was a small busted blister on the right side of the same foot too. Nothing a little Neosporin and a couple of band-aids didn’t fix right up. My tussle with the nettles left me with some scrapes on my left knee and thigh, but again nothing too bad. Thankfully my bum appears to have survived the incident unscathed. The perusal of my legs also brought to my attention some lovely bruises along the upper part of my right thigh, a gift from the wheelbarrow (affectionately named L.B. which stands for Little Bitch) on our numerous trips up the spoil heap together. At least there’s only one week left of the excavation.
My directional confusion and weak control over bodily functions aside, I had a great time on my long run. Beautiful scenery, courteous fellow runners and achieving a personal milestone made the run a fantastic experience. Hopefully I can repeat it next weekend, minus the injuries and embarrassment of course.