I did my 28 minute run this morning, and it went really well until the very last minute.
When my little man told me that I had two minutes to go, I looked down and saw that I had barely passed the four kilometer mark. (The circumference of the lake is 5.7 kilometers.) In an attempt to get as close as possible to reaching five kilometers, I decided to break loose and run like an animal until it was time for my five minute cool-down. The conditions were perfect. All Alright had just started playing (I think the whole “I’ve got nothing left inside of my chest” line is hauntingly appropriate when I’m running!), I was at my favorite part of the lake (trees on both sides of me!), the temperatures were cool (I was wearing my new long-sleeved running shirt!), and I couldn’t see any other humans (no need to make awkward eye contact and/or offer up a goofy smile!). Run. RUN! Around a minute into my sprint, I started coughing. And then something absolutely dreadful happened and I kept running, but not quite as quickly, and then I began walking Very Calculatedly and I made some sort of joke in my app journal about land sharks attacking me on the way back to my car which seems really funny until it’s not so funny anymore.
Actual text sent to Jeff: I may have just peed myself, but I also may have forcefully expelled my entire uterine lining. If I peed myself, my running career is officially over. If I *didn’t* pee myself, well, I don’t want to talk about it.
I reached the car, started it, and was warmly greeted by the Check Engine light. (My life is sort of fun like that. And by fun, I mean fun.)
Anyway. I made it home, which is highly preferred over NOT making it home.