Running update: Randomly wounded

Two posts in a day? What the fuck is this, some sort of conniption?

No.

No, rather it's my intense need for others to know and understand my random pain and suffering - only some of which is self-induced.

AndAND, I was trying to be a good citizen and would like some recognition for that behavior given it tried to kill me.

Also, it only seems right that after all my I WANT A SUB-60K 10K PR talk, I actually alert you to the impending race pain that lies only half a day ahead of me. Yay.

First things first though - I was trying to be a good citizen and that was a waste of my time in the sense that I came away bleeding.

See, I was out for my last interval run before my race tomorrow (this happened yesterday) when I was stopped at a traffic light. Bummer. Fine.

So, in my usual standing-around-for-the-light-to-change habit, I was shaking out my legs in a manner I'm certain is completely unflattering and basically staring off into space mouthing some Paper Tongues along with the iPod. Totally minding my own business and what not.

Well, as I stood there with my flailing legs, a broadsheet newspaper page (those are the biggest ones, for those of you who never worked at a newspaper) came flapping by in the morning breeze and wrapped itself around one of my calves.

Now, perhaps this newspaper was trying to do the early morning commuters a favor and spare them the injustice of having to see my quivering pastiness before the hour of 7am, but regardless I was annoyed.

When the fuck did this place turn into a garbage dump with people just throwing trash on the ground? GAH! I hate litter.

Anyway, as I snatched this paper from my now-warm calf (thanks Merc, you're cozy!) I looked around to find the nearest trash can or recycle bin which happened to be handily located on the other side of the crosswalk.

Perfect. I'll take off across the crosswalk at my usual crosswalk speed (which is, for the record, much faster than my regular pace since, hello, people are watching - must not be a lumbering cow) and, as I pass the can, I'll jam the paper in there and TEE DAH do my good deed for the day whilst protecting the refined culture and honed beauty of my beloved neighborhood.

OR, as luck would have it, I would instead race across the crosswalk (always quickly - never cow-like) and nearly have my hand severed by the Trash Can That Does Not Accept Wads of Newspaper when its alligator-like flap came snapping down on my finger.

Now, understand me clearly here, I didn't immediately register the damage. I just thought something like, "Ow! That fucking hurt!" and then continued running at an ever slowing pace. Though I'm pretty sure that the "thought" was actually muttered or screamed aloud, but I can't be sure. It was early, friends.

Anyway, what I'm sure I uttered aloud was the shriek that came as a result of suddenly noticing blood running down my hand and forearm and DRIPPING onto the ground behind me as I ran.

Dudes - I was my own episode of CSI right there! Nast!

Oh, and then - the biggest win of them all - I realized I'd rubbed my finger on my shorts and YAY now there was blood all over the white trim.

All this while trying to keep a 9 min/mile pace for my last run prior to that stupid sub-60 10K PR I've been wailing about. ANNOYING.

So, yes, I tried to be a good citizen by picking up trash and it literally bit me. Not in the ass, thankfully, as I don't try to put stuff in the trash can with my butt cheeks (though, neato trick if you can do that), but still - I learned that being a do-gooder is sometimes painful, bloody, embarrassing, mostly pointless and/or annoying.

Good thing I work with non-profits from the comfort and safety of an indoor office that does not employ the services of snapping-lid-having trash cans so that I can do my do-goodingness without a daily bloodletting and without having to rely on properly depositing trash in cans because clearly I'm not qualified for that kind of work.

So, now I get to take my first attempt at a sub-60 10K PR tomorrow with a bandaged finger and a sour view on the world of do-goodingness. And trash cans with snapping lids.

Seriously, I don't think I'll look at a trash can the same after that. And wouldn't you know that I also got a blood blister on the nail of that same finger?

Ugh. I'm a fucking mess.

Wish me luck.