A few months ago I took up running. It was awesome. I never knew I could run outside. I slowly got better and I could run farther and got more brave and started running on back roads.
That is about the same time I started having a problem. I always seemed to have to go to the bathroom while running. At first it was just pee. I’d heard people joke that you weren’t a real runner unless you had peed yourself while running. I found myself thinking during about my 4th run that I was in danger of becoming a “real” runner very soon. I sweat so bad I was sure no one would even notice if I peed all down my legs. But…I never did it. I mean, what kind of person pisses them self while running?
During my second four mile run it happened though. I had to go to the bathroom.
You know, (number two).
I was two miles in. I was on a back road that only had two entrances. The only houses were million dollar houses with gates and 4 acres of property.
I WAS FUCKED.
I texted my mom
“I have to go to the bathroom I don’t know what to do.”
She was at work only two miles from me. I assumed she would come get me.
She did not.
I think she just thought I had to pee.
I tried running again and it got worse. It was going to fall out of me.
I tried walking and I couldn’t do that. I was doing some crazy walk with my knees bent in, crouching down willing my asshole to stay closed.
I WAS COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FUCKED!
I started looking around. There had to be somewhere I could go to the bathroom right?
I shuffled across the street barely making it and found a ditch. Full of water. I snuck down into the ditch with cars passing everywhere and when the last car passed I dropped my pants, did my business and then freaked out because:
OH MY FUCKING SHIT NOW WHAT DO I DO? There were no leaves. I don’t run with tissue (rookie mistake), I had nothing. Right about that time I realized my bare ass was facing directly into some ones window and there were cars coming. So I did the only logical thing. I pulled up my pants and took off running. FAST.
LIKE REALLY FUCKING FAST PEOPLE.
I came home horrified. What had just happened? I started Googling and found out there is a real thing. It is called “runners trots.” It happens to women more then men. Something about running shakes up all your insides and makes the poop want to come out.
I read more and it said to plan your runs near bathrooms.
Okay, Easy enough. I went back to running in the commercial district where there were tons of bathrooms. The problem was, now I was so worried I would develop a nervous stomach before running and I couldn’t even leave the house without suddenly freaking out about having to poop.
It finally calmed down and my second official 5k was happening. On mothers day. Isn’t that sweet? My husband agreed to run in the slow lane with me (whatever mister I’m so fast that running with you is like skipping along with our three year old only slower).
Look how happy we were. (yeah I was totally faking)
Right before the run I started freaking out. I hadn’t pooped and I HAD TO POOP. But there was no way I could make it the sani huts (notice them behind me all pink for breast cancer) and then back in line in time to start. I knew it wasn’t an emergency situation so I decided to push through it. But about one mile in something bad happened.
I HAD TO FART.
I started panicking. What was I gonna do? What if I farted out loud and people near me heard me fart? I looked around and everyone had on headphones.
But then, oh God.
And it was following me. And everyone behind me was running right through it.
I nearly died. I didn’t know what to do. I had to fart again. In fact, I realized I HAD TO FART A LOT. Like, oh shit I should just stop now and go back. Only, we were in a very rural area and all of the roads were blocked off and I couldn’t do anything about it. I would end up walking miles back to the starting point if I wanted to be away from people. I considered knocking on a door and asking to pee but then realized that what if I pooped too and stunk up some ones bathroom?
I began having a panic attack. I was trying to run my fastest while simultaneously trying to squeeze my ass cheeks shut. It was not pretty. I kept running and I just kept farting. People started passing me and I still don’t’ know if it is because I was going to slow or if it was because it smelled too bad to be behind me.
Rob could tell. He looked at me and asked if I was okay. I said I was fine, I just need to hit the Sani Huts to pee when we were done.
I finally (very slowly) made my way to the finish line and bolted to the sani huts.
And that’s when I realized what had happened.
I hadn’t been farting at all.
I WAS SHARTING THE WHOLE TIME.
You know, when you fart and a little bit of shit comes out. Only, I had farted HOW MANY TIMES.
Oh my God. I was trapped in a Sani hut with…poop.
In. My. Pants.
I couldn’t tell my husband because as far as he knows I don’t poop. So I did the only logical thing I could. I unlaced my shoes, took off my pants, carefully took off my undies and shoved them in the trash. Imagine how hard that was. My undies all sweaty and covered in poop (kinda runny poop) were all the way up. How the fuck was I supposed to get them down? I had to maneuver the hell out of that. Move my socks just right when I got to my feet, tuck in my toes and slide them off just perfect before deciding to toss them into the blue water. I loved those undies. Then I used about 17 rolls of toilet paper to clean it up. I put my pants back on, put my shoes on, walked out, washed my hands and told my husband we HAD TO GO HOME NOW I NEEDED TO SHOWER.
Here is the worst part. It was mothers day. I was supposed to go meet my mom and grandma up at my grandmas house. They had the kids and it was supposed to be a big family thing.
But seriously y’all. I couldn’t go up there with shit all over myself. And my mom wasn’t just going to let me NOT come so I frantically texted her and told her what happened.
And then my dad checked her text message. And then my grandma knew, and my kids knew and…I died a little. My husband kept pushing me asking if it was really going to be okay that we didn’t go up there. He pushed and pushed and finally I had to tell him I HAD SHARTED like in the movie Along Came Polly.
I’m not sure he’s ever looked at me the same.
I laid a towel down on his seat. Rode home on the verge of tears and then spent about five hours in the shower. I didn’t stay for the announcements this year, or the breakfast. Nothing. I fucking bolted out of there and came home and hid in the shower.
So. When people ask how my mothers day was in 2011 I think you will understand when I tell them it was “pretty shitty”, right?
My horrible story.
The most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me and I just told the whole blogosphere. Are you happy now? Because I think I just might die and go hide in a shell for telling this story.
But…on the bright side….at least I wasn’t wearing shorts right?
Sharting is not in the dictonary.
Gooling “holding my poop in” to find a cute comic picture is A REALLY REALLY FUCKING BAD IDEA
I may never recover from telling this to you, so please go easy on me.