The Crappiest Run of My Life

First, I am fully aware that this is the internet and therefore anyone could indeed happen upon this silly blog. I don't care. Yes, this is a revolting and potentially embarrassing story....but I am choosing to embrace the experience as something out of my control. Here goes...


On Saturday, April 10, 2010 I completed the crappiest run of my life. Literally. Thus far, anyway. Let me explain....


Per my trusty Hal Higdon Novice marathon training guide, I was instructed to run 15 miles this past Saturday. I knew Saturday was forecasted to be a nice day, and was really looking forward to a nice, long, peaceful run. Well, I slept in on Saturday....I figured I needed it after the sort of week I had. It was nothing too awful, nothing terribly out-of-the-ordinary, just a long and somewhat stressful week at work. I got up and putzed around a bit and got around to making myself some eggs....two eggs, scrambled with some milk, with cheddar cheese melted on top. I ate said eggs (yum!) and commented to my husband Jeremy about all of the reading I had done lately about how healthy eggs are, what a good breakfast eggs make, etc., etc. On work mornings, I am typically too rushed/too lazy to actually MAKE breakfast, so I just grab simple stuff as I am running out the door. This lazy Saturday, though, was different. I made myself some eggs and enjoyed every bite.


We recently got a new piano and the tuner came over Saturday around noon to look after a squeaky damper pedal. I ate my eggs in the kitchen as I listened to him play our piano, lamenting the fact that I had let my skills diminish in such a way that I wondered if I would ever play as he was. When the eggs were gone, I washed and cut up some strawberries. I ate a small bowlful; they were just the right blend of tart and sweet, simply delicious.


After my meal, I busied myself about the house doing some menial tasks and finally informed my husband that I would be leaving. My plan was to drive to an area of the trail that runs through town, park my car, run 15 miles, and drive back home. I told him not to expect me back for over two and a half hours.


I packed my gear....ID around my ankle, full water bottle, iPod, garmin running watch....and was ready to hit the road. I drove the 10 minutes to the lot where I'd leave my car, parked, double-checked to be sure I had a car key, and then locked the car doors behind me as I walked up to a shelter near the parking lot. My plan was to leave my water bottle somewhat hidden for myself so it would be ready for me (it was a decently hot day, but regardless running 15 miles has a tendency to lend to dehydration...who knew?! ;))....run 4.5 miles out from the shelter, run 4.5 miles back to the shelter, grab my water bottle for a drink (after completing 9 miles), and then run 3 miles out and three miles back again for a total of 15 miles.


Well, we all know the best laid schemes of mice and men....


I started running....it wasn't the best I'd ever felt when embarking on a "long run" before, but it wasn't awful. The temperature was decent, my iPod was shuffling through a decent play list, and my body felt reasonably ready-to-go. As I neared the two-mile point, however, something within began to....shift.


I, no stranger to GI and bowel issues, knew something was terribly, terribly awry. Quickly I calculated my options....I could turn around and run back the 2 miles to my car, OR I could keep pressing onward. I knew there was a Port-A-Potty approximately one mile ahead of me on the path I was on. I chose the latter. The next few minutes were some of the longest and most uncomfortable of my life. I began sweating more profusely than necessary for the temperature. I began an awkward run/walk gait that was governed by the rumblings within my torso. Approximately .75 miles later (and only about 1/4 of a mile from the Port-A-Potty)...the inevitable happened. I. Crapped. My. Pants.


Now if you will recall, I previously stated that the weather on this particular day was pretty darn nice. That, combined with the fact that it was a Saturday in April, and you probably already deduced that a running trail was at least moderately populated. You would be correct in this deduction.


I hobbled the 1/4 of a mile to the Port-A-Potty, praying to the dear Lord that it would be unoccupied. It was. Whew. I rushed in, locked the door, dropped my shorts....and discovered there was indeed...No. Toilet. Paper.


Well, let's be honest, there wasn't a whole lot one could do at that moment. I c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y removed my shorts and underwear and cast my underwear into the dark, disgusting hole. Let me take this time to give unnecessary detail: a friend asked me, "Well, like, how much was there?!" Enough. Perhaps 1/2-3/4 of a cup. (*gags at the memory*)


What to do now?! After re-donning my relatively un-scathed shorts, I left the Port-A-Potty and set off, walking, back in the direction of my car. After walking a mile and being generally disgusted with my plight, knowing that it was going to take me a l-o-n-g time to get back to my car at that pace, I ran the final 2 miles. Running without a somewhat crucial clothing item....not recommended.


Not a step was taken without me wondering if the people walking/running/biking in front of or behind me had any idea what had taken place minutes before. Also, the entire way back I was pretty angry....angry with my crazy body for "failing" me, frustrated by the fact that I had "wasted" a work out because it hadn't gone anywhere near the way I had planned, disgusted by the sheer DISGUSTINGNESS of this predicament, etc., etc....


When I was about 1.25 miles from my car, I saw a strange-looking wavy stick on the path ahead of me. Only it wasn't a stick. It was....a freaking SNAKE. Seriously. I abhor snakes. I don't care that it was likely not poisonous. I just hate the way snakes look, hate the way they slither, hate everything about the creepy things. I look at a snake, and I think EVIL. UGH! Just my luck! The little guy slithered off into the brush and I went onward.


After what seemed like an eternity, I made it back to the shelter near where I had parked my car....only to discover....my water bottle was empty. It hadn't spilled, it hadn't leaked....but it was empty. It was standing upright, just where I had left it....but it was empty. I was angry, but then cooled off when I decided that some poor, unfortunate soul may have really needed that water. Maybe discovering that water had made their day, maybe even saved them from dehydration. But then I remembered the WATER FOUNTAIN not four feet away. WHAT?! Who the heck drinks from someone else's water bottle?!?!?!?!? And, who the heck DRINKS THE ENTIRE THING?!


I got in my car and sped home, called my sister, swore I'd give up running all together.


Not for long, though ;). I can happily report that I did indeed complete a 15-mile training run the following day, without incident :).

Looking back on this incident....I laugh. I mean, what else can I do?! Laugh and tell a good story to my friends (who are probably a) sick of my bowel stories, and b) realllllly grossed out by me, even if they are too scared to actually tell me that ;)), I guess! In all honesty, though, I am thankful...thankful this has never happened during a race, thankful I have never gotten seriously injured doing what I love, and thankful that I have the ability to pick up where I left off and try again tomorrow :).


And really.........Hey, at least it didn't happen during a race, right?! ;) I mean, really?! HAHA!!!