Sh*t Happens

Two horrible things happened to me recently.

The first incident happened about a month ago. Aaron and I were finishing a training ride on a gorgeous day in June. We were riding through the CC campus looking at the hipsters riding their fixed gear bikes on the sidewalk, and the trees and whatever else there is to look at at CC. Then, disaster struck. Something almost as bad as an atomic bomb fell from the sky. It was bird poop and it landed on my leg.

When I realized that poop was on my leg, I could feel my heart rate and blood pressure increase almost instantly. In the span of 1.2 seconds the following thoughts ran through my head: “I’m going to die, a bird pooped on me. A BIRD!” “I can’t rinse it off with my water bottle, it will spread and get on the rest of my leg.” “Surely God is on vacation because something this horrible couldn’t happen on his watch.” and finally “I need leaves!” I acted on the last thought and before I knew it, I’d slammed on my breaks and turned hard across the road to get to the median, amazingly missing all the cars driving down Cascade. I leapt off my bike and grabbed a handful of leaves to get the filth off my leg. I can only imagine the horror (Or possibly amusement) of the onlookers as I was screaming and nearing a panic attack with every passing second. All in all, the bird poop was only on my leg for 30 seconds, but it felt like eternity.

The second horrible thing happened yesterday. On the way back from the Raven’s Nest, disaster struck again. This time, the attack came in the form of a mine. Someone didn’t pick up after their dog when it had left a steamer right on the sidewalk. Yes, I could’ve been paying closer attention, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is I came close to death. Again.

I felt something on the bottom of my shoe, looked at it and got weak in the knees. I began furiously scraping it off my shoe. There was a small stone wall and a patch of grass nearby that I was able to use for the majority of the cleaning. The cup of water I brought with me for the trek was also of use to get the remaining filth off my favorite shoes. My teammates were of no help, and found my reaction highly amusing. In the middle of this near anxiety attack, a garbage truck pulled up next to me. The man standing on the back looked over at me and said “Hmm, sh*t happens!” and they drove off. No love, none!

Of course, I was wearing my favorite shoes at the time, and now they’re ruined. After a recovery ice cream cone downtown and a pair of replacement shoes, I was doing much better. I’m not one to look for sympathy, but come on- two near death experiences in a month!