Experiment

Let's take a photo.

And.

Write about it.

Let's take this one.

    
        It was a briskly cold autumn day. The kind that the dew appears only to quickly crystalize and crinkle under your feet as you walk over the frosted grass that is waiting for you when you wake up. The kind of day when you breath in deep, you feel like you're lungs are the size of ziplock sandwich bags, struggling against the crisp air expanding in them. The kind of day that if you dare to breath through your noise, your hair inside feels like it will snap off with the next breath. Its cold enough that there is no smell. Autumn is pungent with the ripe smell of trees and leaves rotting on the forest floor - but not today. The air smells cold - that clean, sharp, numbing smell. Your eyes want to water, but they are afraid too - they know all to well that your tears will only streak and freeze to the side of your face.

       He was miserable. Of course he was. How could he not be? Kyle was a runner. Well, he thought he was. Other people thought so as well. But really, he did it because he enjoyed it, not because he was good at it. Today, he hated it. He gambled and he had lost.

       There was no telling how far away from the base camp he was. He ran out with his watch on his wrist as he always did, but he lost track of his time. There simply was more pressing matters on his mind. Usually he could determine based on how long he had been running how far he had gone, but not today. The elements had gotten the better of him. He didn't even care that he was numb to the core anymore. Sweatpants were never an option. He thought they got in the way. He's rather wear shorts, regardless how cold it was out. If you were running hard enough, you'd generate enough heat and you'd be fine. Plus, he had a nice layer of hair on his lower half to help insulate him from the cold Berkshire air.

       He was hurting. Not emotionally, not physically - he just was. He was limping, but not because he had pulled a muscle, rolled an ankle, or broken a bone. He was trying to hold it in.

       Kyle was a cross country runner. He was committed to the sport. It's nothing but you, the trail, and nature. What more could someone ask for? In this case, Kyle only wanted a little relief. Other than being a cross country runner, Kyle was also a notoriously late sleeper.

       On this specific day, Kyle woke later than planned and scrambled out the door on his way to early morning Saturday practice. He was well ahead of the pack when he heard the whistle rifle through the trees. Whistle blows, you turn around and run back to wherever you started from. The team and coach would be there, waiting. Unfortunately for Kyle, on the way back, the scrambling out of bed, down the stairs, into the car, all because of sleeping in, came back to bite him in the ass. Literally.

       Kyle was a man of routine. As many men are - he needed to do his business in the morning before he could start his day. On the run back, it hit him like a ton of bricks - or in this case, maybe a sack of potatoes. Not a problem at all. This had happened before. Simply run off the trail, squat, find a good large beach tree leaf, and shaboom, good to go, back on the trail, as if nothing had happened at all.

       Unfortunately for Kyle, the leaves were all frozen solid. He had no where to go, nowhere to turn, nothing to use to wipe. He tried dried leaves on the ground, but they just crinkled to pieces and got stuck. The frozen leaves made him jump. Birch bark was too rough.

       So here is where we find Kyle. Walking back to the meeting point, defeated, lost, miserable.

       He'd have his proverbial tail between his legs, but not this time, since he didn't want it covered in shit.

                                        ********************


Alright - did I catch you off guard with that one? I tried to start it in one direction and keep you (the reader) occupied with a certain thought in your head, to only turn you completely 180 degrees and end with something (hopefully) humorous and crude.

Did it work?

Tehehehe. Maturity is not something always present in my blog.

And if this was a disappointment based on where you thought I was headed or offended you, I'm sincerely sorry, but lets be honest about something...

Everyone loves a good poop story.