Good Times at the Track

Inspired by Keith's phenomenal weekend performance (1:37:16 half-marathon, y'all!) I sashayed up to the USU track for my regular Monday speed workout. The field showed obvious remnants of a weekend track meet: fresh sand in the pits, neatly stacked hurdles, blue foam fingers littering the bleachers... and along the north end there was a uniform row of shiny port-a-lets conveniently placed for the collegiate athletes. I jogged a pleasant warm-up mile and could sense the lingering excitement and energy of a recent event. I also relished in the hot sun beating down on me. Happily I had the track all to myself. (Once I start the speed work, I feel much less conspicuous dry-heaving over the steeple-chase bar if no one else is around to witness.)

I was about half way through my workout when a large truck towing a flatbed trailer pulled into the gate and lumbered toward the northern end of the track. As I rounded the bend I read the signature: Nature's Call--We "go" wherever you "go." Due to intent focus on my watch and a lack of oxygen, it didn't dawn on me until the smell smacked me. I was sprinting my guts out and sucking wind while these port-a-lets were being hoisted up on the flatbed and their inner-contents vacuumed into a truck bed tank. The inner-contents being "nervous athlete output" that had stewed and baked in the ground for the last 72 hours. I didn't know what to do. I was already in the middle of my carefully-designed workout and I didn't want to cut it short. But I was sprinting through the most wretched, disgusting, foul, stench I had ever encountered. (And remember, I changed Eli's diapers for nearly two years!) So, I ran my remaining 1200, 800 and 400 meters in the fashion of a swimmer; I would take a gigantic, lung-filled-to-capacity, breath and haul it as hard and fast as I could without inhaling again. And wouldn't you know it, my times were actually my fastest yet. But that is not to say it was worth it. I have brushed my teeth twice, shampooed my hair three times and I may have to burn my running tank.

(If you think this post is even remotely funny, which I do not, you will enjoy this witty British film. I'm looking at you, Sherri!)

And although I do not like to use my blog as a medium for publicly expressing my love or for bragging about my family (well, flagrant bragging), I simply cannot miss this opportunity to tell Keith how proud I am of him. You spanked the Ogden half and I couldn't be more awed by your hard work, your resolute mind, and your gorgeous legs. Bien fait, mon cheri!