Robyn and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair…

Okay, so my morning wasn't quite as dramatic as Alexander's*, but it was pretty bad. I woke up feeling kinda cranky and not really wanting to work out – but come on - who really wants to work out when the alarm goes off at 5:30? Not me. But I get up anyway because I am, after all, training for a half-marathon.

Now, if you don’t usually get up at 5:30, you might not know that it’s very dark that time of day. In fact, for most sane people, it’s way too dark to go running outside. But I hate running on the treadmill, so I strap on my reflective gear and hit the sidewalks. It’s a little scary, I admit it. Especially since two weeks ago a runner was stabbed not too far from where I live. Yeah, that’s more than a little scary. It;s no problem though because I recently discovered a random can of pepper spray in a box in our apartment. So yeah, I look pretty cool – running down Peachtree St. wearing fluorescent orange and clutching pepper spray. And the irony does not escape me that I ran around Joburg for two years and never felt the need to carry a weapon but here I am back in Atlanta – packing pepper spray.

So I’ve been running with the pepper spray ever since the story broke about the stabbed runner, but for some reason, it occurs to me (on this Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day) that this old can of pepper spray might not even work. So I decide to test it as I’m running. My arm down by my side, I gently tap the button with my thumb and hear it spray behind me. Okay…cool.

I continue my run without much fanfare. I’m in the final stretch, running down the hill towards the apartment, when all of a sudden - I'm hugging the pavement. There I am - sprawled out across the sidewalk, certain I’m dying. Well, if not dying, at least a few broken bones. Oh, and I’m sure my face is permanently disfigured. I feel the sobs rising up in my chest. How long before Roger comes looking for me? Or will a random stranger find me lying here? Should I scream out into the darkness and hope someone hears? But wait…no…maybe I can…yes, I manage to slowly pick myself up off the pavement. The sobs are still coming but the tears are strangely absent. Funny that. And my legs seem to be working just fine. My hands float up to touch my face. It feels remarkably in tact. It suddenly occurs to me that I am the adult equivalent of a two year old who falls over and becomes hysterical at the mere shock of having fallen…and they’re not actually hurt at all. Oops.

Upon this embarrassing realization, I begin to put one foot in front of the other until I’m jogging again. It’s only a few hundred yards until I’m back at the apartment. I look myself over and apart from a tiny strawberry on my elbow, I’m fine (though I still take an Aleve just to validate the trauma). I get into the shower and start washing my face. I’m scrubbing rather vehemently when I start to experience a burning sensation in my right eye. In a matter of seconds, the whole right side of my face is on fire. What the hell? Oh yeah. The pepper spray. The "test." Well, mission accomplished. My weapon works just fine.

It’s not even seven o’clock when I step out of the shower, but I’m already officially having a Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. Roger appears in the bathroom door, his eyes still bleary with sleep. I spill out the details of my morning drama and he immediately jumps to the conclusion that I should go to the ER and be checked for walk and die syndrome. I assure him that I did not hit my head, and any residual headache is probably a symptom of the pepper spray. He’s skeptical but I manage to convince him that we can skip the trip to the ER …

So at this rate my version of Robyn and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day could be a novella, and I won’t put you through that torture. Especially when the rest of the day, while not great, wasn’t particularly exciting. (Not that pepper spray and a close encounter with the pavement is particularly exciting either). It's just that people keep asking how my “training” is going, and I usually just say “Okay” or "Good," but I guess this answer is a bit more truthful. Some mornings, running is the very last thing I want to do. In fact, some days I’d probably be better off staying in bed. But I don’t. Because I’m training for something bigger than a half-marathon…I’m training for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society…I’m training for Lynn. And that makes it not quite so Terrible and Horrible after all.

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*If you've never read Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day you should. And even if you have, you should read it again.