A-Z Of Running: D is for Disaster

I considered writing about something sensible for the letter D for an entire fifteen minutes. I thought dehydration would be a good topic to cover given how important hydration is when it comes to physical activity.
And here ended the post.

So, instead I have decided to tell you about disastrous runs. Like blisters and missing toenails disastrous runs are part and parcel of the world that is running.

When I really thought about it, I realised, I have had more bad runs than good, or at least it feels that way.
There was the first run, the run where I was nearly killed by the X4 bus, the run where I had that accident, and the run where my hip came out, the planned run that never happened …. really my list is endless.

My particular favourite disastrous run was the run where I got stuck on a fence. Yes, you read that right; I got wedged on an actual fence. The weather had been bad, snow and ice and general stupid running conditions but I had well and truly been bitten by the bug at this point and I had run in worse.
I set of, not unlike Mo Farah would if Mo Farah was slightly chubbier and female, and after a mere mile or so in I couldn’t feel my face or my feet. It was freezing.

And like life does every now and then, fate or circumstance or just sheer luck (or more like bad luck) gave me two options, I could carry on home which would take another mile or so, or, I could jump a fence which would get me back to warmth and safety in a few nanoseconds.

It seemed like a no brainer.

And then I got stuck.

Granted I’d lost a few inches since I’d taken up running but evidently it was not enough to have squeezed me through a fence fit for the Borrowers.

So, it was cold and I was stuck, elevated somewhere, it seemed, in-between heaven and the hell.
And the thing about getting stuck isn’t actually the stuck-ness of it, it’s the panic that comes along with it, the sheer heart pounding, oh my goodness, I’m trapped anxiety. Obviously all rationality had long gone and I had visions of me dying on that fence.

I think it was just before I considered phoning the police and just after I’d started to weep a bit did I I hear him.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked and I swear I was so elated I could have thrown myself of the damn fence.
‘I’m stuck.’ I told a sensibly clad man and his Labrador. ‘I’m trying to get home and I got stuck.’ I said as fast as my chattering teeth made possible. ‘I’ve been here for days.’ I said realising that my primadonna, drama queen persona was not a fitting one for stuck on a fence in the snow situation.

‘Oh dear.’ He said and for a horrible moment I thought he was just going to, like the song says, Walk on by. ‘We’ll get you down in a second.’ He said kindly and I wondered whether offering him a Sunday dinner would be sufficient enough gratitude.

Approaching a slightly neurotic, high pitched, teeth chattering woman who’d got herself stuck on a fence was always going to be slightly awkward given my delicate area seemed to be the bit restricting my freedom.

‘Right.’ He mumbled and I only hoped he didn’t have some sort of weird fence sticking fetish. ‘Here we go.’ He said and endeavoured to shove and push me in more than a gentleman like manner.
And how did I replay him?

I broke wind.

And there was no amount of coughing or slapping my clothes to conceal the fact my digestive system had just let it go and let me down simultaneously.

‘Oh god.’ I managed, safely back on the ground, no longer freezing cold but burning hot with mortification. ‘I’m so…grateful.’ I said copping out on what should have been a blatant apology for nearly gassing the poor Samaritan.
‘You’re welcome.’ He said but he couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘Have a good day.’ He shuffled away like one would slide away from a crime scene as quickly as possible.

So, ladies and gentleman, didn’t go as far as you wanted? Got a little wet, a little dirty, even fell over? If you haven’t farted on a complete stranger I’d say you’ve had a pretty good run!

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