Road Kill

I started running in January. Since there was a foot of snow on the ground, I began running on my treadmill. I had my IPod and a reasonably cool basement. Life was good.

When spring finally broke, I decided it was time to take my feet to the pavement. I wanted to run a 5K in May and needed to maybe-kind-of-sort-of run on - um - a road - since not many 5Ks take place on a treadmill.

Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for a lot of things (like how I clomped like a Clydesdale, or how my joints ached, or how my lungs felt as if they were going to explode rocket-like out of my chest). I wasn't prepared for how difficult the transition from treadmill to pavement would be.

Hence over the last six months I've worked on building my cardio capacity through intervals, stretching before and after runs and buying a cushy pair of running shoes (which still haven't helped with the clomping, unfortunately).

But there's one thing that still freaks me out about running on pavement and it is this: road kill.

Birds, chipmunks, squirrels, raccoons, turkeys, frogs, turtles, fish (yes, fish) and really really big bugs have all made an appearance during my runs. With birds, chipmunks and squirrels, my reaction is usually, "Oh, poor mushed thing. I hope it didn't suffer," while smashed frogs and turtles make me just plain sad.

However, when it comes to raccoons, turkeys and really, really big bugs, my fight or flight response kicks in. Actually it's just the flight response. Those dead things require a very very W I D E berth.

Last week I saw a lumpy "thing" in the distance and the anxiety instantly creeped in. "Oh geez, don't tell me that's a dead animal. It's just garbage, right? Please, please, please don't be dead animal. No. No. No. Doh!" As I got closer, it was apparent that a rather large raccoon had mets its maker at the end of someone's driveway. It was tiped on one side with its front legs outstretched toward me. "Gah!"

I slowed down, looked over my shoulder (because I didn't want to be road kill) and then moved to the other side of the street just in case the raccoon suddenly came back to life, grew ten times its normal size, raised up on its hind legs and decided to chase me. While I have made progress in my running; I haven't made enough to outrun a rabid zombie raccoon (or deal with my insecurities).

Road kill kills my running times.

This summer we went to Michigan to visit friends. My son wanted to jump off a jetty in Frankfort because a group of older kids were doing it. As a parent my concern wasn't the sharp pointy rocks just below the surface or how high the jetty was from the water or that he might break his neck in spite of both those things. My concern was the huge ugly DEAD carp that was floating next to the ladder that my son needed to use to get back onto the jetty. "Gah!"

He jumped, headed toward the ladder and the fish didn't come back to life, turn into Jaws and eat him. But you can see where the dead fish (yes, a fish) I recently ran across (well, around) on the road led me.

You'd think that I'd be old enough now to NOT be scared by road kill. But something primal kicks in every time. It ain't pretty. And it's ruining my running times.

But alas, the snow will soon fly. I can already hear the happy hum of my treadmill.