I'm blessed to have the choice of two peaceful parks within walking/running distance from my home. Each has its own unique features, but both have large ponds with surrounding trails. I get a little boost of energy when I descend into the parks and see the little bubbling fountains and hear the running water, so I try to route each of my runs through one of them - and occasionally both - each day. I love running in the parks. It's great. It's safe. It's peaceful. It makes me feel "active."
But peace comes at a price, and these ponds are deceiving. While they may look like little oases of calm in the midst of the only slightly less calm but totally not chaotic suburban haven that is Germantown, Tennessee, they are home to some evil critters. Each is guarded by its own gaggle of aggressive, people-hating ducks. Jog far enough along either track and you will come face to face (or knee to beak) with either park's fearsome security force, and both the Shady Creek Quacks and the Cameron Brown Honkers are really just gangs in disguise.
No, no. It's not just their loud annoying squawks that rob innocent joggers of their morning zen. Even their stalwart refusal to simply get out the way when you pass isn't enough to brand them as evil. No, no. These guys pack heat. It's their concealed weapons that you need to be wary of, and poop is their ammo of choice.
These ducks poop A LOT, so cautious runners must be hyper-vigilant and think on their toes (literally) to make a quick mental map of the connect-the-dot-like mine field that is the leftovers of these ducks' lunch. And it's green - I mean SWAMP THING GREEN - to boot. I do not want this stuff getting anywhere near my awesome hot pink Nike Free Run +2's! So I have to be careful where I step if I want to finish my run and make it back home with clean shoes.
The challenge here is that (unlike my highly plagiarised and butchered quote at the beginning says) I refuse to stop. My husband blames it on my maniacal German genes. If I think something should be done a certain way, that just-a the way it's-a gonna be (oh wait, that's Italian...I'm not Italian, anyway...). And usually, that way is the most complicated way. It's just how I'm wired. If I go out running, I intend to run. I don't intend to walk, and I don't intend to stop, not for water, not for cramps and certainly not for duck poop. I refuse to yield to these ducks and their droppings. So, when I encounter the puzzle of poop, I don't slow down, I run on tiptoes. I do my little Fred Astaire to keep my forward momentum. I map out the path as I'm dancing through it, and I've even turned it into its own kind of game. Duck Poop Hopscotch, you should try it sometime. Or not. Whatever.
But I realized one morning as I was playing it again, that to get wherever we're going in life we've all got to tiptoe through the duck poop. Duck poop is everywhere, and if you just let it slow you down, or God forbid stop you all together, you lose all your forward momentum and can end up back where you started - having gained nothing at all. That was the same morning I realized that doing the duck poop polka was actually kind of fun in its own gross, unusual sort of way. I think I'm going to try to apply this to the rest of my life and figure out a way to make some of the stickier things we all have to navigate into little games all on their own. I think it's called making lemons out of lemonade, right?
Well, so far it's working for me. I did finish that half marathon without stopping and without walking which was my only real goal. I even finished it so fast my husband wasn't at the finish line. He figured he still had plenty of time before I crossed to take a quick potty break. He was wrong.
We'll talk about the Women's Running Magazine Half Marathon itself next time. It was pretty overwhelming, and I'm still kind of processing the whole experience. I don't know if I'll have anything profound to say about it, but I'll try to think of something.
Until we read again, Friends....keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
