Stop me if you’ve heard this before. But Tuesday runs are not my favorite.
People in my neighborhood have an odd ritual. They keep all their garbage in big containers for days and days. Then they bring them out on Tuesday morning and sit them on the curb along my running path.
This strikes me as incredibly rude. Do I pile up my trash next to their couch while they watch basketball? Well, sure, I would, but that would require toting and knocking and possibly a conversation. Ick. But that’s not the worst part. Which is this.
My neighbors apparently store dead raccoons in their trash. Where do you even BUY a dead raccoon around here? OK, probably Wal-Mart, but they’re likely raccoons from Bangladesh. And I, for one, will not go against the “Buy American Dead Raccoon” campaign. Nosirree.
Dead raccoons apparently hit their odor peak at precisely the time the trash guys come around. So I’m running a couple of miles sniffing this stuff. Which gives me flashbacks to the old Sierra Vista Buffalo Soldier 24-hour run that ran between a fast-food Chinese place and a rancid Dumpster (No, I’m not making that up). This is not a flashback you want to have. I’m not having a great run.
Then the trash guys come around. They never actually get out of the truck these days, instead using a little mechanical grabber. I’m fairly certain they’re aiming for me. They just happen to keep following me on this route, pretending to pick up containers while coming ever closer to me each lap.
Mile after mile, trash truck forcing oncoming traffic into my path. The constant threat of Zombie Raccoons descending on me. The growing burden of knowing that Bob Newhart’s friend the Peeper was actually married to Emily. Things you should not have to run with.
When the trash guys finally lose interest, the street is strewn with sideways containers, empty except for a few raccoon carcasses. This forces me to swerve around them. And although the containers are empty, the raccoon smell remains. Raccoon stench has staying power.
So that’s what my Tuesday runs are like. Running for an hour next to an unbearable stench.
I finally know what it was like for Mo when I had the old Piranhas.
Stop me if I’ve said this before. But Tuesday runs are not my favorite. Damn Zombie Raccoons …