baaaaaack in action.

Hello, blog. It's been awhile. Since I've last written, I've been on a little whirlwind of adventures including an interesting little evening jog in a nearby park/wildlife refuge. When I say "wildlife refuge" I'm referring to bugs and snakes. I'm convinced that one of these days I'll see an armadillo (because aren't they big in the southwest?) but no luck thus far.

We set out to do a loop around the park (6 mi) with a little less than an hour left of sunlight. It was the perfect night. Things started out great. Great weather. Great pace. Great company. Great conversation. After about 10 minutes I realized I had a flat in the shoestring department which ended up being the beginning of a string of problems (no pun intended). After stopping to squat down and tie my shoe, getting back into my stride felt a little awkward, but I worked on getting back into my groove as quickly as possible. And then it hit. That terrible, awful, no-good stomach cramp that all runners know. It's the "you better pick up your pace or turn around and sprint home OR ELSE" feeling . . . ya read? Well . . . I wasn't too successful in picking up my pace. In fact, I did the opposite. I had to start walking, then run-walking-ish, then just keeling over in pain. I was spiraling downward, and fast. And it was only mile 4. And the sun was rrrreally starting to set. And we didn't have headlamps.

I knew what I had to do.

And it wasn't pretty.

The good news was that then we finally were able to pick up our pace, until about a mile later when a funny looking swirly rock thing in the path ahead of me started to shake its rattle . . . now, this was no ordinary rattle-shaker. In my folds of memory, I recall hearing that a rattlesnake can feel your vibrations from far away and will start to shake its tail at you well in advance. This one must have had a serious case of Sensory Perceptive Disorder because he didn't send off his warning signal until it was too late. I was moving too fast (OK, like 2 mph, but still . . .) and there was no slowing down to move around this guy. By the time I figured out what was going on, I was on top of the snake, leaping over it like Gail Devers (pre-'92 Olympics), then feeling the flight part of fight-or-flight, bolted ahead about 100 yards at a dead sprint. For some reason, I had it in my head that the snake could and would catch me and eat me alive, starting at my feet. I had to remind myself that I was not a rat, but more of a honey badger in this scenario. I was in charge here . . . despite the fact that I was running full-bore in the opposite direction.

Thankfully we finished the run just as the sun sunk below the horizon. I don't think two people have ever hopped in a Suby faster than we did that night.