You know, I was feeling pretty sorry about myself after my .

But then I remembered, I'm not the only one in my family who shits their pants!

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). 

Badly.

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?  

WRONG!

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.  

So.

I farted.

But then, oh God.

IT SMELLED.

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.

YOU GUYS!!!!!!! 

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?

So there. 

Fine.

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?

 

*Interesting facts:

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.

I wanted to believe that I haven't been blogging lately because my kids got older and have homework, and need lunches packed and you know aren't little babies that I can just put on a play mat and not worry about.  But come on, I'm going to be honest with y'all I've become addicted to romance novels.  

Sigh.  

**Embarrassed sigh**

Not just any romance novels.  You know the sort of naughty kind of torrid ones.  

I know.  I KNOW.

I should be blogging not reading love stories about great sex and then a break up and then a big romantic make up and marriage or something but….I'm not even sorry because I only do it at night when I'm about to sleep and I can't bring my computer to work anyway so I wouldn't be blogging anyway.  And I can't blog in the morning because my kids actually require real clothes now not a quick onsie and a blanket.  And then need an actual lunch packed now I can't just pack a boob with some breast milk you know.  Then they need their homework done and packed up at night instead of just being all look shiny toy play with that woohoo.

So if that really only leaves me time to myself when I pee and get in bed you can bet I'm going to pick reading a quick book (yeah, my iPad goes pee with me) over writing a whole blog, because when I write blogs I want to be all funny and stuff and I'm just not funny at 11:00 pm at night when I'm all full of sleeping pills and thinking more about sex with my husband then spell check.  

But.  I will figure it out.  Because I miss you guys.  And I know eventually my kids will give me a little bit of time to myself and maybe I won't always be making dinner late at night which will leave me more time around 9:00pm to write a post.  Or, you know maybe I'll just say fuck it, tell my husband to make dinner and I'll run and hide in my girl room and write about blog post, about my run, that has to do with a movie reference that….

Oh my.  I read romance novels and do embarrassing things while I run.  Why do y'all even read me?

I can't believe how many of you want me to humiliate myself.  Anyway I've been super busy lately so I haven't written it yet because I want to write it really good and funny.  So tonight after I balance my checkbook (haven't done it in over a month) I'm going to sit down and write it.

I've decided I might be ready to talk about,"the run."  But I'm not sure.  It's not very lady like at all.  So, those of you in favor of hearing my worst horror story ever IN MY ENTIRE LIFE please raise your hands.  Then we will take a vote.

What's for dinner?

I reply…

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS…DINNER A LA SHANNON.

I just threw a bunch of crap in three pots (yes three for maximum mess potential) and now I'm praying it tastes okay.

Maybe I should go to the store.

Meh…maybe next week.

But I do have fresh corn, peppers, tomatoes, edamame, green beans, sweet pees, beets, potatoes, zucchini and cucumbers.  So…see I don't need to go to the store right?

I didn't make the best grades.  I wasn't always the smartest.  I didn't finish college.  I don't have a fancy degree or job title.  I've done nothing spectacular with my life. I am average.

But.

I would never hurt an animal.  I treat all of my furry friends and slimy fish friends with respect.  I am the type of person who would spend seven days trying to rescue day old bunnies even though I knew I would fail, because I couldn't not try.

I love children.  All children.  The notion that there are children out there starving, being hurt, not being loved hurts me to my core.

I would do anything for my friends.  They have been there for me so many times that I owe them my life.  

I give everyone a second chance, and sometimes a third.

I help people even when I should be competing against them.

I remember every teachers name I've ever had because while I wasn't always the best student I respected what they were doing.

I see the art and beauty in books.  I read them.  I drink them in.  I treat them with respect.  

I aspire to be big someday.  To do something amazing and noteworthy.

I aspire to have a degree in something that truly means something to my soul.

I step on spiders.  I'm sorry but I'm not that perfect.

I try and smile at strangers.

I donate as often as I can.

I give money to people on the streets.

I try and hear other peoples stories because I never know what they are going to teach me.

I can't lose weight.

I hate a million things about myself.

I don't always work as hard as I can.

I sometimes yell at my kids.

My dog drives me insane.

I don't like to be touched.

I don't know how to comfort people when I should.

I shut down easily.

I don't hug.

I think teachers are the most amazing people ever and I try my hardest to help them out.

I have the utmost respect for nurses.

I wish I could be a veterinarian.

I don't eat meat but I treat it with respect when I cook it.

I love my kids fiercely.

I would move mountains for my husband.

I enjoy the simple things in life.

I don't run enough.

I don't walk my dog enough.

I read to my kids as much as I can.

I cry when I send them to time out.

I want to give them the world.

I recycle vigilantly and get angry at people who don't.

I rescue critters often.

I don't trust people enough.

But I trust people too much.

I do my best.

It's not enough.

But it is better then some.

I judge people.

I accept people.

I color inside the lines ALWAYS.

I build a mean Lego house.

My husband builds a radder Lego house and I get jealous of that.

I'm guilty of all of the seven sins.

I'm in love with a vampire.

I'm afraid of the dark.

I live in a concrete castle.

But I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I cry to easy. 

But I cry at all the wrong times.

No matter how lonely my husband is in Reno I selfishly will never leave.

I would love to experience living in another city (Oregon anyone).

I'm not brave enough to ever leave.

My children drive me insane.

I'm bored to death without them.

I know exactly who I want to be.

But I have no idea who I really am.

Does anyone?

Do you?

Do you know exactly who you are?

One day scrolling through Facebook I noticed my Friend Emery posting photos.  Uplifting photos.  Photos that I would look at and smile at.  Then I noticed the little tag under them, #1000thanks.  She has been documenting things in her life that she is thankful for. I read it and then thought I could do that.  But, then I thought….who really captures those moments?  In my head I guess I thought they had to be big things.  Huge things.  Later that week I was driving down the road and my little puppy was being so cute and I started smiling and all the sudden I realized, "wait, this is one of those things, those amazing moments I take for granted."  I snapped a picture and posted my very first #1000things.

1. Morning driving buddies who keep my seat warm while I'm away #1000thanks

 

Then that same day I opened my mail box and found my second thing.  Something so small and trivial but something that I realized brought a smile to my face.  How was I overlooking these tiny things that made me smile for a second.  That let me breath for a moment.  That brought me peace for an instant.

Number 2: finding a savior in my mail box this monday morning when im broke from Lego land and exhausted from a ten hour drive #1000thanks

I started to really "stop and smell the roses" in my life.  Document the small things that made me happy.

‎12. Home grown. #1000thanks

I grew those.  My mom planted them but I DIDN'T KILL THEM!!!  How had I not stopped to see the beauty in that?  I had made myself healthy salads all week with food I had grown and I wasn't even stopping to appreciate it.

‎16. A happy family after homemade ice cream #1000thanks

I love my family.  I appreciate them daily, but this #1000thanks wasn't about them. It was about me.  It was that I had made homemade ice cream and that I, ME, MYSELF had made them happy.  Sometimes I feel useless.  I feel un-needed.  I feel like if I ran away they wouldn't notice.  Sometimes I feel like my kids love everyone in the world more then me.  But Saturday night after making them ice cream and sitting at the table listening to Codi say, "you are my best mom ever, you made me the best ice cream and I love my best mom ever." I paused.  I smiled and I listened.  Later when I walked by all of my boys on the couch, their bellies full of home made ice cream with big smiles I took a second to capture it.  Becuase I want to be able to look back and remember that they do need me.  They do love me.  I do make them happy.  I need that.  I needed to know that there are times I do more then just yell and pack lunches.  I needed to know that they walked away from me sometimes feeling happy.  

I needed this challenge.  A lot.  With everything going on in my head I can sometimes find reasons to hate myself.  If the challenge was #1000thingswrongwithme I would be at a 1000 in a day.  Finding things good seemed so much more difficult in the beginning but now, now I'm having fun with it.  I'm taking my time.  I'm stopping to freeze it in a photograph and remember it.

Thank you Em.  For starting this.  For sharing it with all of us.  Mostly, thank you for opening my eyes to the beauty I was surrounded by that I never even noticed!

I guess thats why it makes sense that #20 would be this;

‎20. An eye opener #1000thanks

So I’m sitting here on the couch and my husband freaks out and is like, “babe HELP ME.”. So I go running in the kitchen and he hands me his shoe and tells me there is a giant spider and that I need to kill it.
Did you read that right? My husband wanted ME the GIRL to kill the spider. The spider that was the size of my head.
It gets better. He then runs to the garage gets the vacuum and the raid and tells me to spray it because I have to get close and he will stand back with the hose and just suck it up. I try hitting it with the shoe which he wont do because he has to get too close to it. It doesn’t work and the spied runs in a corner. I grab the raid, spray the spider and then remain totally calm when 40 billion spiders jump off the back of the big spider and go running all over the place. He manages to suck them all up from about 10 feet away while I’m down on the ground trying to mash the remaining spiders.
We get them all sucked up and then he tells me that I have go carry the canister outside and empty it because he is too affraid to even carry the canister.
Then we look down and there is another spider. Which he tries to get me to kill. I’m in my house shoes though so I refuse and he gets stuck killing the small non scary spider.
Moral of the story?
MY HUSBAND IS A TOTAL WUSSY BABY ABOUT SPIDERS!!!!!
Can’t believe he made me the fragile lady of the house kill it.
SISSY.

If you can't find me, I'm the one buried in cucumbers and string beans.  Save me.