Being bled

So I don't have many running mishaps anymore, in the sense that my body's got used to it to the degree of no longer being flatulent outside packed churches, and no more chafing. Yesterday, however, a funny thing happened. As I was running or before I set out - I'm not sure which - I scratched my back. Just a wee scratch, nothing serious. But I suppose because I was running and my blood was up, and because it was a hot day so I was sweating like a racehorse with rabies, it bled rather more than it should, and the blood spread rather more dramatically than it should. And I was wearing a white shirt, too. When I got home and took a gander at it, it was AWFUL. It looked - I don't know what it looked like. It looked like I'd been hurt, though. It looked like a television stabbing.

The funny thing was I hadn't been running somewhere secluded. I'd been running in a park that was crowded with dog walkers and other runners, or at least crowded by L--- standards. And out of the two dozen or so people I was, you know, within seven metres of as I ran, there was one - ONE - who pointed out that I was bleeding. Right at the end of my run. That doesn't seem normal too me.

The other funny thing, BTW, is that when he said that, not knowing, indeed, that I was bleeding, I immediately craned my neck to try to look at my ass in case it was the Red Dragon coming early, making him cry "No no no! Your back!" Sorry for the graphic reminder of menses, concerned man on the sidewalk.