Good intentions

Good intentions. Sometimes good intentions provide a gold star on the day, reward for a job well done. Other times? Mud butt.

I had good intentions when I started my long run this weekend. I really did. First, while still in my sleep I was going to sew a large “S” on my chest superman style. (Right next to my tattoo of Charlie Sheen.) Having previously set my alarm for 3:55am (!!!) I was planning on getting up, running 14 miles, getting back and showered before my son woke up. My wife might as well have handed me the father of the year mug for me to drink my hot cup of modesty**. It was going to be glorious. I should have expected something was amiss when I woke up at 3:55 and the superman cape that I had tied around my neck had cut the oxygen supply to my brain, turning my head blue like a smurf.

I got up, put my contacts in, and felt the all too familiar rumble in my stomach. I knew where that was going. One thing lead to another and my normal 25 minute prep time somehow turned into 45 with a short 10 minute break time on the toilet.

The run itself went fine, however I could tell that I didn’t have quite as much get up and go as I thought that I should. I’ve been actively working to increase my miles (40 miles last week) and it seems like the added distance was starting to take its toll. What would have ideally been a 7:45 pace run was mostly a 8:00 pace run. It was one of those where I didn’t want to push the pace so I settled at whatever felt comfortable, but comfortable was slow(er) than I wanted. But then something happened….

Around 10 miles, I felt the all too familiar rumblings of something trying to bust out of my innards. My thoughts immediately went to my lovely family, sleeping soundly awaiting my arrival. So, I pushed on. I grunted and groaned and was able to get all the way through 13 miles. The issue? I was still a mile away from home. Bummer. I stopped and tried to walk it off with no success. The result: Mud Butt.

Mud Butt [muhd][buht] –noun: The state of defecation limbo whereas a bowl movement has progressed past the stage of turtle-heading but no skid marks are created.

So, that was fun. Fortunately, this ain’t my first rodeo, and I have an escape hatch to cut a solid half mile off of my normal run route. Let’s just say that I used the escape hatch this weekend. Once I got home, I received the news that my son had actually already been awake and had fallen asleep again. My efforts were for naught!!!

But, when I came home, I got to hang out with my son (and take a nap in the chair while he squirmed all over me) and that made it worth it. Probably.  Finally, lots of you have requested pictures of the little man, so here you go!

Hanging out on the floor

With mom and dad at his baptism

4 months!

If you’re still reading this, first does your mom know? thank you. Second, can I get some props for combining the term mud butt with pictures of my son? Just like my tattoo of Charlie Sheen would say. WINNING!!

**Tastes like a combination of ginger and failure