A rogue toenail.

Well if that title didn’t furrow your brow then you my friend read with unshakable candor.

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I survived the Great Attack of the Rogue Toenail and all I got was this lousy Band-Aid.

Perhaps we should back up a few steps….

Sunday morning I snuck out of bed early to make myself breakfast, drink excessive amounts of black coffee, and sprawl out on the couch to catch up on blog reading and a good hour of budget reconciling. Ahhhh nothing brings me more joy than a nice breakfast and a nicely balanced budget 😉

I absolutely adore those peaceful morning hours when the rest of the sane world is still cuddled up with their blankies sucking their thumbs while I’m off doing whatever my little heart desires. It kind of reminds me of sneaking out of the house as a teenager. Something about being awake when no one else is feels rebellious and thrilling to me. *Perhaps* I’ve traded in sneaking out to meet my friends for sneaking out to play with excel. But that’s ok. This is a judgment free zone. Sadly these special hours seem to only present themselves on Sundays and this is precisely the reason for which I dutifully savor ever ounce of every Sunday morning.

Once my breakfast settled and I started to feel the caffeine from my coffee IV kick in, I decided to head out on my Sunday long run. I hadn’t been on a long run for two weeks–since the day I ran a whopping six miles—the *ahem* farthest *ahem* I had EVER run. Yesterday as I set out, I was motivated by Lindsay’s post about reaching her new 8 mile long distance running record. So I got my butt off the couch and laced up my sneakers. As soon as I stepped outside I realized it was kinda hot out. As in I’d been outside 3 seconds and I was already starting to perspire. The mental games immediately started. I began to talk myself down and lower my expectations. It’s hot. Just go for a quick run and get your butt back inside. If you’re too tired, you can always stop. Etc. etc. Mind games to keep myself from heading back in. Maybe I would make a good salesman…

After pretending to stretch for a minute or two, I was off. Miles started to tick by. I ran to the pizza shop, to Target, to the coffee shop, to the grocery store… Everywhere I could think of. Each time I reached my destination I gave myself a new one. Toward the end of mile 4 I seriously contemplated calling a cab to come get me. I had taken an unfortunate turn that put me at the foot of a rather steep hill, and I actually had to clasp my hand against my chest as I weased my way upward right past a Two Men and a Truck Van with unloading in process. They looked concerned, but they didn’t try to stop me and I kept going. And going. And going. And finally, after an eternity of running, when my Runkeeper ap declared that I’d reached and unfathomable 8 miles I said “mmmmmmkay yeah that’s enough.” And I stopped.

8 miles. Absolute ridiculousness.

How’s that for blogosphere motivation?!

If I’m going to keep doing this long run business, I really need to look into getting one of those little runner’s fanny packs to carry a bottle of water. Dehydration is no friend of mine. I’m thinking something along the lines of this Fuel Belt:

Any recommendations?

I was RIPE after the run. You know it’s bad when you can smell your own stank. When I undressed to hit the showers I was shocked to see that one of my toes was completely covered in blood! At first glance I thought the entire side of my toe had sliced open! After a momentary freak out moment that included me hobbling out to the patio to show the BF my war wound, I took a closer look and realized the toe was still one solid appendage, but rather my crazy pinky toenail had stabbed the one next to it in an apparent angry rage! What the heck?! I’ve always had squirrely pinky toenails. I mean, when I paint my nails I basically have to paint my whole pinky toe and then wipe off the excess because the nail is so small and peculiar shaped. I just never realized that thing was locked and loaded!

Lesson learned: Always be on the lookout for rogue toenails, especially before long runs.