A Gross Miscalculation – December 16, 2012
“Some day, this will be funny.”
That’s all I could think as I assessed the situation.
I was shivering under an evergreen tree in the woods on a late afternoon in December as the sun (and temperature) began to steadily fall.
And wearing not a stitch of clothing.
How did I find myself in this situation?
Well, in hindsight my predicament was the culmination of a series of unfortunate decisions beginning that morning.
It was a Sunday, and I was in the final three weeks of training for the upcoming Mississippi Blues Marathon to be held on January 5, 2013. This was to be my final Sunday “long run” before beginning the tapering phase for the race, and my training schedule called for an easy 10-miler.
Most marathon training programs call for one double-digit mile “long run” during the week, and Sunday was my designated day to do this. For nearly a decade I had been doing my long runs the first thing on Sunday morning, but that day when I woke up I decided to delay the run until the afternoon, after lunch.
As was the Sunday custom at the time, Mom provided a delicious lunch for our extended family, which would often include upwards of 20 people – my sisters, spouses, kids. It was always a great time for us to reconnect after a busy week, and my kids grew up never knowing anything different than “Sunday Lunch at Grandmas”.
My plan was to eat lunch, hang out with everybody for a while, and then drive over to run the Lawrence Riverfront Trail. The drive would allow my food to digest, the trail would be the perfect distance, and the trees on the wooded trail would offer some protection from the bitter winter winds that were whipping up that afternoon.
The previous week, Mom, Andie, and I had stuffed over 50 pounds of Potatis Korv, a traditional Christmas Swedish sausage comprised of beef, pork, onions, and potatoes.
This particular lunch was our first opportunity to sample that year’s batch, and combined with Mom’s awesome cauliflower and cheese sauce, I ate more than my fill. My thinking was that I could use the extra calories for the upcoming 10-miler.
Another Sunday tradition was for Dad (Charles Sodergren) to bring up some ice cream from the basement freezer (they bought it by the pail!) and offer up generously-sized “Grandpa Scoops” to everyone for dessert.
“What the heck – life is short” … I thought as I accepted his offer of two large scoops in a 32-ounce plastic cup from some long-ago ballgame that we had attended. Just to top it off, I decided to pour some orange juice over the ice cream, making my own “Orange Julius” treat that I remembered having as a kid.
After finishing off this feast and dessert, and noting that it was nearing 2 o’clock, I decided to head out for the 30-minute drive over to the Lawrence Trail. As I parked in the public lot located catercorner to Johnny’s Tavern in North Lawrence, I took inventory of my clothing choices for the frigid December run.
When it comes to cold-weather running, I am something of a minimalist. Perhaps it has something to do with my Scandinavian roots, but I tend to be quite warm-blooded, and have discovered that once I get going, the exertion from the running tends to warm up my body quite quickly. As long as my hands and head are warm, I’m generally good to go no matter what the temperature. And only in the most extreme circumstances have I ever felt the need to add extra protection for my legs, and this day was no exception as I eschewed running tights in favor of my usual shorts.
As I prepared to leave the car, I realized that the first mile of the run would occur on the open-air of the river levee before getting to the trail, so I made the last-second decision to put on an extra short-sleeved shirt under my long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of socks over the cotton gloves on my hands (a trick that I had learned from Jenny).
As I walked up to the river levee to begin the run, I made sure to tightly double-tie the car key on the waist drawstring of my shorts, thinking that it would be disastrous to lose the key in the woods!
In keeping with most of my runs, the first mile along the levee was somewhat laborious, as my muscles took a while to get limbered up and my body was becoming acclimated to the bitter cold wind.
Plus the food hadn’t completely settled.
Just when I was beginning to wonder whether I had worn enough clothing, the trail came into view and I realized that I would soon enjoy the protection from the howling wind that the trees would provide.
As I entered the trail for the 8-mile loop in the woods, I felt an immediate sense of relief from the cold. Then it dawned on me that, 8 miles later, I would still have the mile on the levee to make it back to the car. But by then my body would be completely warmed up from the run, and maybe the wind will have died down by then … I rationalized.
Oh, well … I’ll figure it out.
The outward portion of the loop in the woods was a microcosm of why I love running so much.
Alone with my thoughts.
At one with nature.
Seemingly effortless.
Just the sound of my breathing and the crunching leaves underfoot.
In The Zone.
At the turnaround point, roughly 4 miles from the trailhead (and 5 from the car), I was experiencing the quintessential “Runner’s High”, which for me generally includes a feeling of gratitude, which I punctuated by whispering one of my favorite mantras in the quiet serenity of the woods …
“Grateful to be Capable.”
About a mile into the inbound loop, some of the remnants of “Lunch at Grandmas” began to make their presence known.
Not surprisingly to me, the onions from the Potatis Korv began to have their anticipated effect (you can ask my family), and the bubbling in my stomach was escaping with a “rat-a-tat” sound accompanying every single step.
I had a case of “The Running Farts”
It had happened many times before (again, ask my family), and like a kid I giggled aloud at the contrast between the noises I was emitting and my peaceful surroundings.
After a bit, the “bubbles” in my stomach settled down, and the tranquility returned.
For a mile.
Then things changed quickly.
And drastically.
Once again, I could feel a churning in my stomach.
But this time, I had that “gut feeling” that it was more than just “bubbles.”
No problem. This had also happened before (the Little Rock Marathon comes to mind), and all I had to do was find a tree.
Even though I was relatively certain that there was no one else on the trail, I didn’t want to risk being “caught with my pants down”, so I started to look for some ground cover off the trail where I could “do my business” and move on.
As you remember, though, this was the middle of December, and all the trees and bushes had lost their leaves. It seemed like you could see as far as you wanted off the trail.
Nowhere to hide.
Fortunately, it didn’t seem urgent enough to stop, so I decided to continue running until I found either a big log (no pun intended) or evergreen to hide behind. After maybe a quarter mile, there it was – a pine tree with low-hanging branches a good 15 feet off the trail. Perfect!
So, have you ever been driving home from work or somewhere and had “The Urge” come up, but you knew that you could hold it until you got home with no problem?
And then when you got home, your body somehow knew that the bathroom was imminent, and “The Urge” became, well … URGENT!?!
And you BARELY made it to the bathroom?
Well, that was happening to me. I tried to stay calm and breathe deeply as I approached the tree while starting to pull down my shorts.
Then I realized. I had very TIGHTLY double-tied my car key on the waistband drawstring of my shorts, and they weren’t budging. And my calmness turned into sheer panic as I frantically pulled the socks and gloves from my hands to clumsily attempt to untie the drawstring.
Then I could feel the warmth.
It was too late.
And it was PRODIGIOUS.
Fortunately, the inner lining of the shorts had captured the majority of the mess, and suddenly we were looking at Operation Cleanup. What else are you going to do?
After a brief (again, no pun intended) assessment, I decided the best course of action was to completely remove my shoes and socks, ever so carefully peel off my shorts, and then turn them inside-out to allow the “debris” to (hopefully) fall off.
At least that was the plan.
It was also constantly running in the back of my mind that to lose the car key would greatly compound this unfolding disaster, so after removing the key from the drawstring (why wasn’t it this easy to untie earlier?) and my phone from the shorts pocket (it had thankfully avoided the carnage), I carefully placed them in the shoe that I had removed.
I was then able to remove the shorts, turn them inside-out, and shake off quite a bit of the mess.
However, in the process of removing the shorts, my legs got “dirty”.
VERY “dirty”.
Mind you, at this point I was completely naked from the waist down, and I really wanted to clean off my legs the best I could, but how? Leaves?
At this point I decided that some of the clothing would have to be sacrificed in order to wipe off my legs and “other areas”.
After using the two last-second socks that I had put on my hands, things were better. But there’s only so much that two little bootie (again, no pun intended) socks can do.
The short-sleeved shirt had to go as Option #2 (these puns!)
As it was the bottom (I swear, these puns are unintended!) layer, I had to remove both shirts to use it, which now made me completely naked.
Well, I guess there was the stocking cap left, and it was going to be my (hopefully unnecessary) Option 3.
While finishing up Operation Cleanup, I replayed in my mind that day’s lunch … Korv, cauliflower with cheese sauce, ice cream … with orange juice.
What in the world was I thinking?
Then I heard voices on the trail.
Oh, crap!
I would have rather gotten frostbite than to have been discovered this way, so I laid supine on the ground (did I mention that I was bare naked?) behind the pine tree and waited for my trailmates to pass by.
As I quietly hid flat on the ground behind the tree, I looked up at the sky and envisioned footage of a rescue helicopter dropping down a basket, along with the graphic “Man Airlifted from Woods After Crapping Pants” on the National Nightly News.
Once I was assured that the trail bicyclists had passed by, I got dressed back as close as I could to my original state, minus the socks on my hands and the extra shirt layer.
While feeling better about my situation, I realized that I still had about a mile left in the woods, followed by the mile on the open-air levee back to the car.
During the approximately 20 minutes spent with Operation Cleanup, my core body temperature had dropped, I was now wearing less clothing, and the temperature was dropping along with the sun.
My teeth literally began to chatter, and my body started to shiver uncontrollably.
Just gotta get moving and push through it (what is it with these puns?)
After another mile in the woods, I embarked upon the last mile on the levee, relieved (more puns?) to find that the wind had died down significantly. It was still bitterly cold, but the adrenaline of knowing that the safe haven of the car was coming lifted my spirits.
Finally, I got to the car, started the engine, cranked up the heat to full blast, and called Jenny.
So, how do you begin THIS conversation?
“Hey, honey … so, I had an accident in the woods. I’m fine, but you might want to have a 5-gallon bucket ready for when I get home.”
After sharing a general synopsis of the adventure with her, I headed home.
About a mile into the trip home, I realized that the stench from the remaining mess was gag-inducing, and if I wasn’t careful there would be ANOTHER mess to clean up.
So I drove the rest of the way home with the heater on full blast and the windows rolled down!
As I pulled into the garage, Jenny had a 5-gallon bucket, an old towel, and a package of baby wipes at the ready. In no time, we cleaned up the mess, laughing the entire time.
And that is the day, in the words of my sister Janeen, when I left my mark on the world.
