I'm keeping my weekly runs short this week, in part because I'm tapering and in part to ease the strain on my left IT band, so again this evening, I did 3 miles. And I didn't really even want to do that.
See, it's been a busy week so far and I've had non-stop activity since Monday morning, so when I got home this afternoon and slumped into the comfy chair, all I wanted to do was stay there and watch VH1's "Britney's Most Shocking Moments" (seriously, that girl...) and lull myself into a TV-induced coma. Eventually, I knew I could sit there no more, so I reluctantly pulled on my running clothes and got out there. Now, normally even when I don't feel like running at first, I usually get warmed up and, after a mile, I start enjoying myself, but tonight, that was not the story.
Oh, I went the full 3 miles, and yes, my knee was kind to me and gave me no pain whatsoever, yet I never found the run's mojo. So I slogged through it and was pleased that I just got it done. But to top off the craptastic run, there was, well, some crap.
I got back in the house and headed for the bedroom, walked into the closet and started untying my shoes when the stink hit me: It smelled like turd. "Fuck," I cursed silently, "Did Scooter have mud butt again?" A quick glance around told me, "no." And then I thought to turn my shoe over -- there was the source of the shit. I'd stepped in it.
And walked all the way across the house.