My run was not going well, to say the least. But I was at least thankful that I was able to be running. I did think about that at least one time when I wasn’t focused on my discomfort. At another point my mind was taken away from my discomfort but I would have preferred being focused on being miserable.
Along a section that I run every Sunday there was a house. With a dog. The dog barked at me. At first I didn’t care because dogs always bark at runners. I think all dogs take an oath at birth to harass runners and mailmen. But then I noticed a few things that made me soil my tights (that phrase sounds so un-manly!). This wasn’t just a dog, it was a pit bull. Pit bulls are the ill tempered sea bass of walking land. Pit bulls mangle and kill people and this dog did not like that I was passing by his home. Worse yet was the fact that there were no owners in sight and this beast was restrained by a laundry line leash.
I searched for ways to avoid my nearly inevitable death. No humans were around but there was enough traffic that I would probably get help before that thing ripped my throat out with it’s locking jaws. I scanned for other means of survival. I saw a tree that I could probably scramble up into if necessary. I searched for the closest homes and visualized myself screaming for help. I kept searching behind me for the dog that I knew must be soon approaching since no laundry line would hold back such a powerful animal.
Maybe my smelly tights helped me here. No living being wants to be near me when I’ve put 12 or so miles into a pair of tights.