BOW WOW & OW!

August 7, 2011

Goal:  Finish the Florida Ironman Triathlon, November 5, 2011, Panama City, FL

Current Weight: 191—this has been the toughest stretch of weight loss…

Ironman Goal Weight: A lean, strong, healthy 189

Current Injury Status: None

Current Training: Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. 25 years ago I married my best friend Stephanie. Tomorrow is also the day I begin “13 weeks to a 13 Hour Marathon” (Triathlete Magazine). What a great day!

LAUGH: Hey, That Was My Left Cheek, Pal!

Last week I was able spend some time in Southern Idaho visiting my sister’s family. I decided to go for a solitary fun run while there. The plan was for a 5-8 mile early morning run on the rural roads outside the thriving metropolis of Wendell, Idaho: Population: 2,430. If you count the dairy cows, the population quadruples. This is milk country, folks. (Insert your own “udder” joke here).

So, I head out the door and run west with my GPS watch as my guide. This was to be a “low-key, mind-clearing, thinking” run--no competition here--just gonna go scamper out in the sticks and hopefully not smell too many barnyard odors. I’m feeling good and new scenery is a welcome site.

Well, I didn’t consider the fact that I would be passing many farms guarded by territorial canines. No biggie, I love dogs and they love me. I also did not account for the fact that I was the stranger in town. I am unarmed in unfamiliar surroundings. The only heat I was packing was dissipating through my headband. I would be no match for a Fido hell-bent on protecting his turf. These are not tame “city pooches”. These guys have farm skills.

I saw no less than 20 dogs. Every farmer in Wendell must have a dog(s). At least 15 of them vehemently voiced their displeasure at my decision to run down “their” road. I tried to explain to them in my best doggie language that I was harmless and just out for a training run. Easy there Sparky, I’m a lover not a fighter. I slowed down, I dropped my hands to my sides, and I even walked to look less threatening. A pair of border collies seemed to understand, but the rest of the furry sentries stared me down with distrust and disgust. Was that German Shepherd foaming at the mouth?

I’m a dog lover, but my nerves began to tingle a bit because I was doing a “out and back” route. I would have to travel through the gauntlet again. The alternative would be a much longer run with no guarantee of a dogless road back. I am NOT faster than a four-legged security officer. As I began the loop back home, I formulated some contingency plans in case I was attacked. What would Jack Bauer do? I would climb the nearest tree, I would get on all fours and bark back at them, I would hurdle the barb-wired fence to my left, or I would jump into the canal on the right. Though Jack is one of my heroes, I had no intentions of hurting a dog. But, I did want to return home in one piece. Surely I won’t be so strange to them the second time around, will I? Don’t make me slap your snout, Snuggles. Here we go, I’m ready. 


One mile later and a couple of harmless barks echo from a front porch. No sweat--they’re just cheering me on. Thanks fellas! I keep running and another half mile down the road I pass the Collie Brothers. They get it. I’m just another runner doing his thing. Man’s best friend, why worry? I round a corner and scan the roadway ahead. I spot a run-down trailer and junk-littered front yard. What in the Sam Hill? Is that a pack of six troops blocking my path? I usually don’t hallucinate until mile 22. Ok, I haven’t seen these guys before—they must have been sleeping in on my first flyby. Be careful, this could be a trap. They are not barking, but they aren’t wagging their tails, either. The Gang o’ Six have the road completely blocked and they look like they’ve done this before. This ain’t their first rodeo. Ambushed. Dangit. When they finish with me will anyone ever find my remains?! I stop. 100 feet of asphalt separates me from this motley looking crew of collarless farm dogs. In unison they begin walking slowly toward me with tails pointed to the sky. Ok, relax—let’s try diplomacy. “Hey guys! How ya’ll doing?” I bend down, smile, and extend a hand of fellowship. I hope this works because I don’t see a tree or canal, and there’s no way I’m making it over that barb-wired fence before they chase me down and sink their teeth into my flesh! Their slow walk turns into a trot and lo and behold, tails start wagging and heads start bobbing! Yes. It’s love at first sight! The next thing I know I am surrounded by six romping, licking, sniffing, and playful pupsters. I start walking and wonder why I harbored any worries. These guys are part of my posse now. I’ve made some new friends!


Then it happened. The biggest of the lot (breed unknown) lowers his head and begins to growl. Are you kidding me? Please, no! Maybe Bubba is jealous that his boys are having fun with SOMEONE OTHER THAN HIM?! I stop walking and try to console him with some puppy talk. It’s not working. I can feel Bubba’s hot breath on my left thigh and I have an all too close view of his incisors and bicuspids. Hydrogen peroxide is not recommended for use on puncture wounds, consult a physician. Things continue to go south. Monkey see, doggy do. Two others stop wagging tails and create a chorus of growls. It’s as if they think I’m a spy trying to infiltrate their canine cell. “Dudes, I promise, we’re on the same team!” Now the other three stop wagging tails and time slows to an awkward crawl. When was my last tetanus shot? I await the proverbial movie of my life to flash before my eyes as I prepare myself to become a giant Milk-Bone biscuit (I’m in dairy country after all).  For a brief moment I have a random thought about an African documentary where a pack of hynenas attack a helpless… Owwwwwwwwww! Really?! That’s gonna leave a mark! Bubba just nipped my left buttock and the other sharks are starting to circle! OK, all bets are off—no Mr. Nice Guy!  Instantly the fight component of the fight or flight mechanism kicks into high gear. No way I’m going to perish in Wendell, Idaho in the jaws of the Gang o’ Six! “Go home now!” I bark angrily at the grumpy growlers. They stop and stare. Oh yes. They most likely are “24” fans and are mulling over the consequences of their unruly behavior. They’ve seen what Jack can do. I repeat the same command and point to their property with feigned authority. Incredibly, the pack starts to back away led by Big Bubba. Wow, these guys obey better than my students. I keep shooing them back until I feel safe enough to pass. Once they get inside their yard I start to jog and they start to bark. Not in the clear just yet—maintain eye contact. As the distance between us increases, my pace quickens and then I realize…if Two Tooth Tommy comes out of that trailer dragging a hangover and a shotgun my right cheek is gonna be full of lead!  Let’s skedaddle and get out of Dodge! I started pickin’ ‘em up and layin’ ‘em down faster and made a daring escape!

I’ve always known that the two biggest dangers to runners are cars and dogs. I was almost taken down by the latter on this day, but no, I survived, suffering only a minor nick to the left cheek. Sorry, but I’m not going to show you the wound…