This morning's run was cut short because I thought my bowels were going to explode. That's putting it nicely. I came down the Decoro hill and suddenly everything began cramping up. Now, I'm not talking about some simple discomfort. I'm talking about, "if I don’t make it to the john RIGHT NOW, things arte going to get, er, messy.
Part of the joy of running is the freeness you feel when you're so in tune with your body and every muscle is performing in unison. You can glide across the pavement or the grass like you're and elk or a gazelle, or hell, a fast moving elephant. But when one small thing isn't in tune, whoa baby, look out.
See, I wasn't ANYWHERE close to a bathroom. Seriously now, this was one of those moments I wasn't sure how I was going to get home! I must have been 3 miles from the house. And I couldn't run anymore. Oh, no, that would have caused even more trouble.
I once read about a runner who crossed the finish line of a marathon covered with her own.... you get the picture. I prayed I'd never experience something like that. Luckily I didn't. No, I was lucky enough to find an inconspicuous wooded area off the beaten path that I had to bolt in order to save a little bit of humility.
Unfortunately, I learned an important lesson. That tissue you're supposed to bring along may not always be for wiping your nose. It may be for one of these unforeseen moments when the only leaves around are the size of your thumb and to make some sort of ... tissue?... would require hours of weaving skills.
I had neither the time nor the weaving skills. I had to walk the remaining three miles home, tenderly, with a chill from the sweat on my back (and brow).
I know this wasn't the most... respectable entry. I mean, I almost became Jeff Daniels in "Dumb and Dumber". Still, I want everyone to know what I'm going through. It's not all fun and games.
Sometimes running can just be crappy.