Rail Trail=Hell

If you're from the South (bless your dear soul), Hell rhymes with both rail and trail. Just thought you'd like to know that.

This weekend, I am "vacationing at my parents." This is partially due to all the various family events I have this weekend, and if I stay with my parents, I don't have to drive myself, which is good since gas is so frickin' expensive. I'm also staying here partially due to wanting to escape work.

The Rail Trail is a trail that runs near Park City and other cities up here. I guess it used to be/run along the Union Pacific Railroad or something like that.

So what put me on the Rail Trail this morning, you ask? As you may (or may not--I don't know how much you know about my life) recall, I am marathon training. I was supposed to run 18 miles this weekend. Because I was staying up in this neck of the woods, I figured I would break free from my comfort zone and try running in a different area. Uncle lives in this area, and he's also training for a marathon, so he recommended this particular run as one of his favorites. He thinks it's beautiful; I think he needs his eyes checked.

Anyway, let me break down the hell for you.

7:00 Alarm goes off. I promptly ignore it, but I actually figure out how to hit snooze on the alarm in the guest room.

8:00 Second alarm goes off. Aren't I smart for setting a backup alarm? Yeah, I ignore this one too. But now I know how to snooze. Life is good.

8:30 Finally drag my lazy butt out of bed. Eat a bit of food. Get dressed. Use the facilities. Etc. and so forth.

9:15 Head out the door. Drive 13 miles to where I'm to begin my run.

9:30ish Begin run.

Mile 2 iPod decides it's going to stop working. Stupid iPod. I've been having troubles with him for the last few weeks. Usually, about two hours into the run, he likes to seize up. Apparently today he's only good for 18 minutes.

Mile 3 iPod decides to start working again. Good for him. I'm still taking him in, so pbblt.

Mile 6 Realize that this run isn't as pretty as Uncle says it is.

Mile 9 (will soon discover that this is mile 10) Turn around after visit to Porta-Potty by Echo Reservoir. Eat a Gu. (If you don't know what Gu is, it's basically a little packet of energy. I typically hold off on eating one until halfway through my run. After hell today, I may need to reassess this philosophy.)

Mile 12 Rainstorm. Nice. Except it's cold and feels like little hail pellets.

Mile 13 iPod decides it doesn't want to work anymore. Again. Stupid iPod.

Mile 15 Sudden realization that I did not turn around at mile 9, but at mile 10. Damn. Sometimes, being an English major really sucks.

Mile 16 Right hip flexor decides it doesn't want to run anymore.

Mile 17 Left knee decides to join right hip flexor. Take another Gu, hoping this will appease the masses. Will discover on Mile 19 that it doesn't.

Mile 18 Right knee, who has always been such a good, well-behaved boy, decides he feels left out of the rebellion.

Mile 19 Black out. Apparently I stumble off the trail and into a barbed-wire fence. I've never blacked out before. This is a rather interesting experience because apparently I was unconscious (hence the blakout), but I could still feel myself stumbling down the bank of the path and hitting the barbed wire fence. So I end up with some gashes, and I'm completely cognizant and with it now. Woo hoo! After stumbling back up to the trail, I notice blood on my arm and running down my leg. I use the last of my water, which, in all honestly, I probably ought to have consumed, considering my recent blackout, and rinse off arm and leg. Hmm. Gashes don't look so happy. In assessing them, because I'm obviously completely rational and with it now, I decide that since there's only one gash on my leg (I'm ignoring the little knick on my knee) and I don't want it to get infected, I'm going to cover it with my wrist band. Which is sweaty on the inside, but that didn't occur to me until just now as I am typing this. I take my shirt, which I haven't been wearing for 9 miles now anyway because I started my run a bit later than I had intended, and wrap it around the two gashes in my arm. I use the arm band from my iPod (hey, he's not working anymore, so it's not like he's going to miss it) to fasten my shirt tightly to my arm. I compliment myself on my ingenuity, thinking, Who the hell needs to be a Boy Scout to take care of silly little barbed wire wounds?

Mile 20 After walking the remaining mile (I'm thinking that running would cause too much blood to flow through my system, possibly creating a gushing forth from my wounds), I'm pleased to see that hip flexor and knees have repented of their evil ways and no longer hurt. Cool.

Arriving at the car, I have the presence of mind to call Mom and find out if we have Band-aids and Neosporin so I know whether or not I have to pick some up on the way home. Mom doesn't answer question but asks why I want to know. Nosey Mom. So I tell Mom about blackout incident and express gratititude that the barbed wire caught me and kept me from hitting the ground where I might have done some real damage. Mom doesn't see it the same way. "What do you mean you blacked out? Didn't you know you were going to black out? Even I know when I'm going to black out and that I should sit down on the ground with my head between my knees." Note to self: Next time, talk to Dad.

Mom finally concedes that we do have Neosporin and Band-aids. I drive home, thinking how great it is that shock is keeping me so attentive. Slight niggling in the back of my head says that I probably shouldn't drive while in shock. Oh well.

So I get home. Mom is still fuming. Mom frets over gashes. "It's only barbed wire," says I. "Exactly. When's the last time you had a tetanus shot? You're going to die." (Okay, so she didn't say that last bit about going to die. Mom isn't that melodramatic.) I swear they're no big deal. She hauls me down to Dad. Dad says, "Well, get them cleaned up. We'll decide what to do then."

Hot water on open gashes equals more pain. Eww. Anyway, Dad thinks that most of them are merely scratches. One looks pretty deep. We opt for the butterfly bandage instead of stitches. (We've been to the Park City "Emergency Clinic" before; they're pretty inept. I paid my $35 copay to have the doctor tell me that he couldn't help me and that if the problem persisted, I should go to a real emergency room in Salt Lake.) Dad slathers (when I say slather, I mean slather) some Neosporin on all the wounds and tells me to watch for infection. Note to self: Always take medical emergencies to Dad.