I ran this weekend, outside, after three weeks of being chained to the treadmill.  Hallelujah!

I knew it was going to be the day when my phone told me Saturday was going to be in the 50s.  That snow from last Saturday would have been only a memory come afternoon and I would hit the roads.

I laced up, headed out, and things were great.  Everything was melting, the roads were wet, but not slippery and the sun was shining.

I hit my favorite trail around the local park (one of two parks in town, big timin’ in this little town:)) and only found a bit of ice on the south side which is pretty shady.  I was just a bit chilly but really starting to warm up.

Water was running down the streets and into the little run off ditch that runs through town.  I was dodging puddles and jamming out and just so happy to be outside again.

My positive thoughts took a turn for the worst at about mile 4….

The left over snow piles could not have been more in my way.  I was having to dodge slush and walk over thick, stubborn ice that refused to melt away.  I was wimping out in a major way and all I could do was tell myself to suck it up, two more miles, a little fartlek at the end, and I was home free.

Towards the end of mile 4, it happened.  If you are going to run in the snow melt, you may as well just count on.  You can try all you want you but eventually, it happens.

You hit a sinker.  What is a sinker you may ask?  That is my, very made up term, for a bank of snow that seems fairly harmless, seems very passable, but underneath lurks a river of cold, icy water just waiting to suck your feet in.  If you are lucky, it will only get one foot and, if you are even luckier, it will happen at the end of your run (if you’re the luckiest, it won’t happen at all).

My sinker, I hit it at the end of mile 4 and I hit it hard.  One foot went in all the way up to my shin.  I fell at the same time because I have the coordination of a newly toddling child.  My hand when into a pile of stickers and my foot into a pool of ice.

I got myself out of there as coolly as I could which, in real life, was considerably awkward.  I shook my sopping wet foot out, for what reason I’m not sure, and scanned my surroundings hoping no one witnessed the past few events.

I pulled the darn stickers out of my hand and did what any runner would do–kept running.  My foot was cold, wet, and squishy, my mental stability was fading quickly, but I just needed to get the heck out of there before anyone saw me.

In the end, I cut my run short a bit to hopefully avoid blisters from the wet sinker foot.  I hit up another mile and then headed home.

Running is like that sometimes, you think you’ve lucked out and then, all of the sudden and out of no where, you find yourself in a sink hole!

Dry shoe on the left, soaker shoe on the right. Sad face.

Dry shoe on the left, soaker shoe on the right. Sad face.

I could turn this into a lesson about life but honestly folks, if there is a parallel in life to unexpectedly drowning your foot in an icy cold river of water, I don’t want to know about it!

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