I used to say that if I lost a toenail that would be a deal breaker. I would not, could not, have ugly feet. I like sandals and flip flops and being barefoot in the sand.
I used to say that if…well, there is no delicate way to say this…I crapped my pants on the course, that would be IT, I’d be done with that race and done with running. I mean EW, that is unacceptably gross, right?
Well… I’ve got this toe. And it hurts– the toe nail hurts. Not a lot and not in running shoes or flip flops. Just in heels. Closed toe heels. So it appears, based on some Facebook crowd sourcing that I may have a toe nail growing beneath the current, likely dead toe nail. I won’t take my fire engine red nail polish off to check.
On the course at the Tinkerbell 1/2 marathon I saw a woman who’d pooped her pants. The bottom of her sparkly skirt and her compression shorts and thighs were caked with excrement. We were at mile 11. And I found myself feeling both simultaneously bad for her and proud of her– she wasn’t letting that stop her.
So my friend and I were discussing the What Ifs later that day. What if that happened to us? What would we do? How would we handle it? (I erred on the side of stripping down at the next porta potty and dousing shorts with water and running with wet pants. (And yeah, I can’t believe I said that either.)
And that’s when I realized that I no longer have these particular deal breakers. Running is gross and undignified. Shit happens (literally) to your body that before you were a runner you simply cannot imagine.
The only real deal breaker I have now is running. I won’t give it up. That is my deal breaker.
Funny how things change, isn’t it?