I’m not what you would consider a germaphobe, but I’m also not a huge fan of the dropped food “five second rule”. I’m more of a two seconds at best gal, and that even depends on what I’ve dropped and where it was dropped. This also applies to food that has not been properly stored nor refrigerated. Clearly, I’ve spent too much time in both the scientific field and the service industry. (Some of the things I’ve seen in restaurant kitchens cannot be unseen! ) That floor/ground/restaurant table could have anything from fecal matter, to microscopic insect eggs, to e-coli, or even something as simple yet gag inducing as cat litter (I swear my cats track that stuff EVERYWHERE.) Trust me, I realize how disgusting this all sounds…which is why I chose to not eat the dropped food. I hate to be wasteful, but the thought of god-knows-what ending up on my snack just isn’t worth it to me.
Eight miles into a long run yesterday, I realize I’m hungry, and should probably ingest calories of some sort before I start to bonk. The problem is, I forgot to pack anything (you’d never guess I’ve been doing this for almost ten years…). But because it never hurts to look, I dug into the front pocket of my hydration pack. Eureka! A half eaten package of Margarita flavored Clif Shot Bloks *! (Note: that’s how they spell Blok. Now stop trying to fix it, autocorrect!) I nearly skipped with delight!
I quickly contemplate how long this package has been in said hydration pack. I’ve been very busy with work, and I’m pretty sure we haven’t put in any long runs requiring the hydration pack in at least a week. But when was the last time I had shot bloks? Maybe a week? Maybe two weeks? I can’t keep track anymore. With this ultra training, it feels like all I do is run (except for the aforementioned week, when I didn’t), so everything blends together.
Two weeks, worst case scenario. Let’s go with that.
Two weeks the shot bloks have been sitting in an open package, in an open pocket of my hydration pack, on the floor of the kitchen closet. The floor of the kitchen closet in the third floor apartment that despite all of Geoffrey’s best intentions and daily hard work as my house wife, still sometimes will get the random apartment palmetto bug or other South Carolina creepy bug.
Fun fact: the further South you travel, the larger and creepier the bugs get.
I push the blok to the edge of the package and eyeball it with a half concerned, but more so, curious glance. It has spots. Do these always have spots? Have I ever bothered to look? Should I even bother to look? The thought of the closet and two(?) weeks at best exposure starts to creep back into my mind. Man those palmetto bugs are creepy. And do we have mice? Do mice even live in South Carolina? Would I even know, because of the cats? Surely the cats will get the non existent mice before they nibble on my margarita flavored Clif shot bloks. I quickly push the thoughts away as my stomach starts to grumble…
…and I REFUSE to bonk on this so far very awesome run.
All of these thoughts occur within the mater of seconds. I decide the spots must be part of the flavoring, and I eat the blok without even a flinch.
Runvelation #1: the lack of oxygen to your brain lowers inhibitions. But more importantly…a good long run far outweighs the risk of food poisoning.
(Also: runners are kind of gross).
*Amazon affiliate links used in this post.