Defining Dedication

Today I had zero interest in going out for a run.

ZERO.

In fact, I should have actually been going out for my second run of the week today, but instead it was still just my first.  And yet, despite that, I was still procrastinating.

Perhaps my reason for not wanting to run today was due to PTSD.  You see, last week, on the last tenth of a mile split ... a bird pooped on my head.  And it was huge.  HUGE! A HUGE POOP RIGHT ON MY HEAD!  I'm talking, I touched the top of my head to see what just glanced it, and the entire bottom half of my palm came back crusty.

So gross.

Well, technically, I pretty much suppressed my memory of poop-ageddon until I went to suit up for today's run.  I had actually totally forgotten about the poop, to be honest.  So really, that can't be what made me not want to go. 

Instead, I was already dreading today's run when I was reminded of last week's incident.  Because that's when I saw it: apparently when I pulled my sports bra over my head last week, post poop-pocalypse, the poop from my head smeared all along the bottom edge of my bra.  Right in the front where it would lie on my rib cage.

Lovely.

Since I was already mostly undressed and didn't want any other reason to NOT run, I winged it.  I hand washed the nasty off my bra, grimaced as the wet spot on my bra brushed my face while I pulled it on, and took off for my run.

Of course, that wasn't the end of my woes.  First, my audio started beeping at the 2.5 mile mark, since my Bluetooth headset was running out of juice.  Funny enough, my iPhone had just finished playing "End of the World as We Know It" by REM, and the battery died right as Amy Winehouse was singing "They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no, no".

So there I was. With at least 2 miles left in my run, I was stuck wearing a poopy bra and a dead headset.  And that means, of course, that I should start to chafe. 

Awesome.

But my goal was to make it a minimum of 4.5 miles.  So I pushed.  And as my watch dinged "goal met" ... I realized ... F it!  Let's make it an even 5.

So I ran. 

And I finished 5 miles.

And today, the birds didn't poop on my head.