poop on my shoes

i absolutely love my life sometimes.

lately, we have changed our running route. for the last six weeks or so, i was running along a big traffic artery here in Leeds. it was useful when i was beginning to run, because i could measure my progress pretty easily. if i made it to a certain landmark on the street one day (a bus stop, a certain store, a lamppost), i would try to surpass that distance the next time.

the down side to the old route was the traffic. the honking. the people in their cars, watching as i huffed and puffed my way past them, mired in morning rush. the people in their cars who took it upon themselves to make rude gestures, or mock my pathetic speed. the people in their SUVs, perched so high that they didn't see me at all.

now, i spend my mornings running though a postcard. with perhaps a few more empty beer cans and crisp packets and carrier bags and cigarette butts, sure

but no cars.

now, i cover the miles in a blissful, arboreal paradise along the euphemistically named 'river' Aire. today, i finished a fast four or five miles, looked down, and noticed a tiny brown stain on my ankle.

it was poop.

from what animal, i know not. but somewhere between the fresh air and the endophins, i found i couldn't care less. so go on, dog walkers, stray cats, foxes, badgers, feral children...poop wherever you like. i'll run right through it.