Glad you liked the story. My reaction was similar to yours when I heard my coach tell it.
I have one other story. While not about a training run encounter, it is running-related, more or less.
When I was coaching indoor, we had our dual meets at a track about an hour's drive from the school. We were on the way home from a meet. As was my custom, I was sitting up front, in the coaches' seat, reading the bus driver's copy of the Boston Herald. Suddenly, a great commotion broke out in the back of the bus, lots of whooping and laughing. I turn around and it looks like a fight has broken out. Since kids are laughing, I figure it must be some sort of joke. Nonetheless I go back there to calm things down because the kids aren't supposed to be playing pigpile during bus rides. When I get back there I see right away it IS serious, one kid, kind of a hothead, whose shirt and face were wet, is really mad and trying to beat the living crap out of another kid, who's not putting up a fight. Others are trying to get the angry kid off the passive one. I have to grab the kid and scream in his ear to knock it off. I ask him what's going on, but he won't tell me. I ask the other kid, the one getting the beating, the same question, and get the same response. Meanwhile, the kids sitting around them are cracking up, which I find to be very odd. What's also odd is that the kid getting beat on is one of the quietest, most unassuming people I had ever coached. Deferential to a fault. For his own safety, I take the passive kid with me back up to the front of the bus, and tell both of them we'll be having a talk when we get back to school.
We get back to school, I have the quiet kid walking behind me. I get into my office, turn around...and he's gone. I go to the locker room, he's not there either. The hotheaded kid is there, changing his clothes after taking a shower. I make sure he joins me in the office so I can find out what the hell happened. Well, here's what happened: the quiet kid really, really, needed to take a leak. So he used an empty gatorade bottle. Apparently, some knucklehead freshman thought this was just too gross, and he convinced the kid that he should throw the bottle out the bus window. So the urinator cracks open that small rectangular window, throws the bottle...and it hits the side of the window and bounces back in the bus. And of course, the cap comes off, and his piss ends up splashing the hotheaded kid.
The girls' coach (who was on the girls' bus and is just getting up to speed on all this nonsense) is the only other person in the office as hothead tells me this. I look over at him, and he looks just as dumbfounded as I feel. All I can do is apologize to the hothead. My coaching colleague asks me where the other kid is, and I admit that I lost track of him. He points out that we have to find this kid before he leaves the school. Realizing he's right, we both leave the office and start searching the school. We head over to the school lobby, where kids wait for their parents to pick them up. This is January, so the kids are waiting inside. I ask a track kid who's waiting in the lobby if he's seen our perp, and he goes "uhh, coach, he's uhh....outside." So we go outside, in the 10 degree weather, and see the kid standing behind a bush. I say his name, no response. Like he's hoping we'll go away or something. I say his name a little louder, and he sheepishly walks over. He won't look me in the eye, he's giggling uncontrollably, and he can't wipe the grin off his face. Knowing this kid's personality, I know he's doing this because he's so embarassed, but the other coach doesn't think so and it's making him very angry. I ask the kid what happened, and slowly, painfully, the truth comes out amid numerous apologies. As I'm trying to explain to him why this is not acceptable behavior (and trying not to laugh my ass off), his mother pulls up. She gets out of the car with a worried look on her face. When the coaches are standing there all-serious like talking to your kid in the freezing cold, something's up. Seeing her, I send the kid to wait a few yards away as I attempt to explain to the mom what has happened. Ever struggle for the right word? Ever really struggle for the right word? Imagine me trying to explain to this woman that her son had pissed in a bottle and then tried to throw it out the window. As the story slowly, painfully comes out of my mouth, I watch the shame and anger wash across this woman's face. She apologizes, profusely, and assures me it won't happen again. I point out that I have no doubt about that. After a few more apologies, she turns to leave. Doesn't say a damn thing to her kid except his name, he follows her to the car and gets in. As they drive off, I mention to the girls' coach that it may be the last time we ever see that kid.
To wrap things up, I had the kid write an apology to the aggrieved hothead. Whether the hothead ever exacted his revenge, I'll never know and I don't care to. When bottle-boy returned to practice, he got an ovation from his teammates.