For those within the running community, it is a well known fact that the pipes should be emptied before toeing the starting line. To run swift, one should run light, so to speak. So runners often arise a few hours before the race to take care of this number one issue. Or perhaps we should say number two.
Warning: This little story is a little on the gross side. Potty humor. But it is the whole truth. I promise that the following isn’t full of alternative facts, hooey, or crap. Well, maybe some of the latter.
You’ve been warned. Continue on at your own risk.
Since it is best practice to do a quick throne-sit before heading to the race, I’m up early, quietly occupying the downstairs restroom. The rest of my family is fast asleep.
This little ritual is a good thing for you to keep in mind for your next race, whether it is a 5K, a Color Run, or a challenging half marathon. Before you leave the house that morning, get up early and poop to your heart’s delight. Less to carry on the run. Or to become “the runs” with. So I’m trying to push through a shipment before leaving the house.
Thank goodness I have a running magazine to keep me company, and plenty of time on the clock.
Now if only this drop shipment would pass…..
As inspiring as those running stories were, the throne sit didn’t yield any positive results. Or since the desired result was subtractive, would that be termed a negative result? No matter, there was no shedding of baggage before leaving the house. My full tummy went to the race with me.
Fortunately, there were plenty of bathrooms in the high school where the race started from.
Unfortunately, there were also plenty of long lines.
Fortunately, there were less popular bathrooms downstairs.
Unfortunately, the person who had gone before me was OVERLY successful at voiding his system. And whatever he consumed last night was a bio hazard.
Fortunately, I got a warm seat. 😛
Unfortunately, my tummy was not having it.
Fortunately, I brought another magazine!
Unfortunately, a line was assembling outside my stall. Then a few “ahems” murmuring. So poop anxiety filled the air, and my tummy won round two.
I began the race full of hope, full of joy, and full of sh*!.
Up and down my tummy went, applying centrifugal forces with every step of the race. By mile 7, detonation was imminent. I found the nearest forest preserve toilet, and burst through the door.
With only seconds remaining, I realized that I was going to have to put my pristine fanny on that toilet seat, that God only knows how many men never raised before proving they are terrible at target practice. I unrolled some toilet paper, wiped down the seat, and then repeated the process a few more times.
When only a few squares of paper remained, I decided to conserve the precious remains, and park my tush on the throne.
The remnants that already piled in the tub below wafted an odiferous, and nearly lethal cloud that immediately caused me to gag. I began dry heaving, thinking my tummy was going to empty itself one way or another.
The sound of my gags resounded off the walls, and I raised my mouth to the ceiling, hoping to get a breath of at least less putrid air. Within moments, the blasting commenced, and my contributions made the cement chamber even more unbearable. I had to exit as fast as possible. I utilized the remaining few squares to clean myself (no monkey butt for this runner), and the seat for the next person. Because someone has to be polite.
Finally relieved, I got back into the race, lighter, and a little light-headed. After several strides, I regained my running juju, and continued the last remaining miles to the half-marathon finish line.
Truth be told, it wasn’t my best run ever. It surely wasn’t my lightest. But running is always an adventure, replete with stories, and reflections that dovetail with life around us. I run to learn more about myself and the world that I live in. I run to cleanse my mind, and sometimes my body. I run to celebrate the past, and welcome the future. I run to write. I run, because I can.
And as a writer, I thought it important to provide specific details, and supporting evidence. I apologize if my words don’t accurately convey the full scope of the story. Your nose should thank me.