Photo: heartlandparcel.co.uk
Before I begin, I'd like to apologize to my parents. Despite what you may think after reading this post, I assure you I was provided with a very cultured upbringing. During my 12 years of private education, I attended the ballet at the age of 5, knew the difference between Monet and Renoir at the age of 10, and was was the self-proclaimed next Benny Goodman in the middle school band (1st chair, what what!). I bet they never thought their little Renaissance girl would one day be discussing poop on the internet for all to see. I'm sorry.
It was supposed to be magical. That infamous 20 mile run most marathoners complete before they start to rest up and taper off for the big day. It was supposed to be serene and life-changing. A story I could tell my grandchildren one day as a story of how I was able to train for the greatest accomplishment in my life. A tale of guts and glory.
Well, not quite.
We started out at 5am. Babel (my running pal who has seen more sunrises with me than my fiancee, and, coincidentally, has seen me in a beast-like rage just as many times) and I started out on Montrose as usual. He jetted out as planned and I was keeping a nice steady pace. The problem with starting out at 5 though is that its dark. Really dark. So dark that there were drunk kids stumbling around and I was a little afraid of a creeper hiding in the bushes waiting to kill me. So I was on high alert and ready to throw my highly-defined calf into any crotch that came too close. That is, until I hit mile 3 and realized I had to go to the bathroom.
Now, in the running community, pooping is a very big deal. It's practically a golden rule that before a long run, you have to go. But since I don't know where the magic "go" button is on my colon, I hadn't taken this very important step.
But I was prepared. I had ran on the lake before and knew exactly where to go. "No problem!" I thought. "Castaways is about a mile away, I can make it there easily." However, when you have to go to the bathroom while running, "Easily" quickly turns into, "OK where's the bathroom." After what seemed like a year of running, I made it to Castaways.
Closed.
Only slightly panicked, I pranced over to the security guard and asked when the restroom would be opened. After describing the process of opening the bathrooms as if he were explaining the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, I determined it a lost cause and planned my next stop, Navy Pier.
My run from North Ave. went from a fast pace, to a jog, to a quick step waddle. Contemplating the bushes, I dismissed this option for the fact that I am a lady, and also I have a fear of being recognized as the "Marathon Missfit" in awkward situations. Halfway to the Pier I practically leaped in front of a go cart occupied with two city workers who apparently recognized the angst on my face and kindly explained that the cart behind them would be opening up the restrooms located at the underpass half a mile past where I had just ran.
By now I am trembling with fear of being in a situation where if I were at camp, I would be dubbed the nickname "Captain brown bottoms." By the grace of the marathon gods, I made it to the restroom right when the second cart had arrived. Styx, goddess of the underworld, thought it was more important to open the men's room first for a drunk guy in a suit before she attended to me. Normally a quite person, I shrieked at the gatekeeper, "I REALLY HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM " with the grace and tenacity of a two year old. Finally, my journey was complete.
How does my story end? Well, to quote my more eloquent friend Carolyn, I maintain the scientific fact that, "Girls don't poop."
As for telling this story to my grandkids, I figure that I can either leave this part out, or save it for a story of when they're potty-training.
(Oh, and I finished my 20 miles. Marathon, here I come.)
3 Comments
JohnLendman said:
Oh my god, haha, as soon as I read the story hed I knew what it was about because I just discovered this situation too... and just finished my 20 miler... it's so nerve wreaking that in like 20 days we're running this thing... In training I've run into a lot of not-so-glamorous things the hard way: gauging hydration and running with a water bottle, losing energy and running with Chomps or that GU stuff, ahem, nipple chafing, and now what's referred to as "runners sh#@s" -I hope nothing else rears it's ugly head come Oct. 10 --good luck btw
M. Wolff said:
I once almost peed in behind the bushes on the side of a very popular running/walking/biking path in the southern suburbs. Luckily I came across a port-a-pottie. I didn't even care that it didn't have TP. I was just glad I didn't have to pee outside where I could have been caught.
However, when I was running my first (and so far only) half marathon in May (Palos), despite the numerous port-a-potties along the course, I saw more than one person (male and female) ducking in and out of the woods.
Connie (Marathon MissFit) said:
heehee, you are both brave for posting here. Thanks for making me feel less awkward- I'm glad I'm not alone! =D
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