I'm not one to brag, really. And in truth I'm not even one to launch snot rockets in polite company, or really in any company. But running down the road with not another living soul in sight and with a partially obstructed right nostril? Oh hells yeah.
So there I was, running, in a rainstorm. And though there was a lot of rain (like always lately) there was no thunder, which was nice. And by thunder, here I mean the weather phenomenon that usually goes with lightning and not the runner named Andrew, a.k.a. The Thunder, whom I intend beat like a red headed stepchild at the Bill Luti 5-miler on the 19th.
And so about a mile from home and annoyed by the congestion in my nose, in one smooth motion I reached up with my left hand and covered my left nostril with my thumb, tilted my head back slightly and to the right and let fly the most perfect projectile to ever take flight from my nose. This was not the messy, spraying kind of snot rocket either, but a single solid blob that held together beautifully in flight--almost in the shape of a dumbbell really--as it tumbled end over end in a perfect arc and into grass on the side of the road.
Energized by my accomplishment and my new ability to breathe freely, I enjoyed slightly more spring in my step for the final mile of an otherwise ho-hum ten miler. Ah the little things.