For every run that approaches the sublime, there’s also usually one that veers off to the ridiculous. To wit, this morning.
For starters, it’s never a good idea to run in a neighborhood near a chocolate factory. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it in any given moment), I live in such a neighborhood. It was particularly pungent this morning. For the first two and a half miles, every time I came back to its vicinity, my brain seized up on the thought of, “Mmmm, chocolate.” Visions of Homer Simpson frolicking with bunnies in The Land of Chocolate passed before my eyes.
After that point, however, I became preoccupied with other things, as it became increasingly evident my digestive system had apparently not, um, completed its expulsionary duties, shall we say. By the time I got back to the end of my second trip up and down the street at three miles, I was telling myself,
“I’ll just go halfway up the street, turn around and finish. I’m pretty sure I can make it that far.”
By the time I was almost halfway up the street my thoughts had changed to,
“This is only a little tough; I’ll go the whole way to the end of the street instead. That way, I’ll finish four and a half miles. That looks a whole lot better than only 3.8-some-odd miles.
By the time I made it to close to the halfway point again, I was feeling quite under duress.
“I need to distract myself so I don’t notice this as much. What’s a song I can quickly get stuck in my head that’s pretty complicated?”
A little later,
Followed by the last guitar solo, followed by the last riffs, which for some reason ran through my head in the form of a series of words:
[Gotta-gotta-gotta-poo, Gotta-gotta-gotta-poo, Gotta-gotta-gotta-poo. POOOO!]
“O Imaginary Geddy Lee Voice, why hast thou forsaken me?!”
Luckily, even though my Rush simulacrum bailed on me, I managed to make it home in time.