Just Go With It

Yesterday, I almost crapped my pants. In a race.

Some of you may have already concluded that I have a reoccurring problem with this. Having to pee or poop while running is not a new thing for me. In fact, I consider it (in a weird sort of running geek way: "I can crap in the woods and you can't") as a badge of honor? OK, yes. I am weird. And yes, this is totally gross--but not as gross as actually crapping in your pants, which some runner-geeks do (and I will NEVER do) so that when you run by them, not only do you smell it but you also SEE it, dribbling down their leg. Yuck. I'll take the woods and a leaf, thank you very much.

Anyway, so there I am with 2.5 miles left to go in a 10 mile race, having kept my pace and run my race-plan up until that point and suddenly that fact that they only had four porto potties for 400+ runners becomes incredibly critical to whether or not I can finish this race. (I did go pre-race, people, but they had called runners to the start and there were six people behind me in line and all I had time to do was pee. Hey, it was a moment of self-less sacrifice.) Mile 7 was when I planned to break for the finish, start pulling away leaving runners in the dust and my legs and lungs could have done it, my…um butt, however was preoccupied.

So there I am trying to run fast, not because I want a good time, but because that will get me to a porto potty more quickly; and running slow, because when I run fast I have to go more. Seriously bi-polar running at it's best.

I finished, without crapping my pants (which is good), but my time was bad (which is not good.) Hopefully the race organizers of the Marathon will have more foresight and better planning and there will be plenty of porto potties at the start line.