I got the chance to go exploring a new area of trails this weekend. I was down in Long Island for a funeral and had the chance to check out a local preserve – it is an old psych ward. The weather was 45 and rainy, which is better than the crud we have had in Vermont.
I was thirty-five minutes in and had another ten to spend in the preserve before the two mile run home. I was heading down an old concrete street and wanted to take a side trail, but being unfamiliar with the area, I was not ready for them when they came up so I ran past a few before deciding that I would take the next path no matter.
I came upon the trail, hesitated a moment and then decided to go for it. Having run past the trail a little bit, my turn was a bit sharper than 90 degrees. I planted my foot in the puddle and went to turn. Unfortunately, there was a skim coat of mud on the concrete road that sent me sprawling into the puddle. My knee smashed the ground, which was uncomfortable, but the least of my concerns. Somehow I spilled enough that my chest smashed the ground, too. Being that it was a semi-new trail, there were some small stumps maybe two or three inches in diameter covered in debris. Well, I caught one of those little stabbing stumps right in the ribs and it left me out of breath for a good thirty seconds. Again, though this was the least of my problems. As I stood up, I looked at the stump that had assaulted me, and noticed there was a raccoon poop pancake sitting there. I had bloodied up my knee, bruised my ribs up pretty good, and managed to land in a pile of crap.
But what is a little mud, blood and poo, if not the building blocks of a magnificent run. (By the way, the people that saw me where apauled at my bloody knee; it was kind o