Yesterday I decided to go for a little run here at Panama City Beach. I'm currently training for a ten mile race come mid-May, so I'm on this work out schedule that makes me exercise pretty much every day. I'm equating it to brushing your teeth when you're around the age of 7...you really, really don't want to do it, but your mom inevitably makes you, so you do (mom in this metaphor is guilt).

So I run.

And when I did yesterday, I got a little something extra than just a calorie burn and built up endurance. I got mooned.

Yes, I'm at the spring break capitol of the south, and the strip was flooded with bass pumping, chrome plated trucks full of college students hollering at me for no particular reason whatsoever. Around mile 2 of my run, a horn honked, I glanced slightly to the right and it's a glance that I ultimately came to regret.

Two dudes in a big truck "on dubs" (one riding shotgun and one in the back seat) stuck their butts out the window and wiggled. I gave them a smirk and admirable salute with my right hand, but didn't break stride. They screamed, "yeah!"

Good run, I'd say. I am, however, praying that any and all of my subsequent running adventures will be less populated with the naked male backside.