Unfortunately not all of us can look half this good when running.
Let’s rewind to Thursday’s morning. I managed to get my butt up at 6:45am, get on my running clothes that I had so neatly laid out the night before, scarf down a Luna Bar and head out the door by 7:00. File all of that under Major Win.
The run started out fine, my legs were a little tired from doing yoga the day before for the first time in 10 years, but it was sunny out and I was enjoying the morning quiet. Then it happened. Right as I turned the corner on the the street that was the farthest away from my house on the run, my stomach decided that it didn’t like the Luna Bar that I ate earlier. Normally before morning runs I eat a piece of toast and peanut butter and have never had a problem. I’m not the runner you see dashing off to the Port-O-Pottie before a race and then spending 10 minutes in there. In fact, I almost never even have to pee on a run no matter how far it is. I guess that’s one upside to being a major sweater.
But there I was with my intestines vehemently objecting to everything that was inside them. This wasn’t just a ‘I have 2 miles until home, it’s going to be a close call’. No, this was a ‘I need a bathroom now. RIGHT NOW’ situation.
I slowed to walk hoping it would help. It didn’t. I tried jogging. Made it worse. I surveyed my surroundings as I shuffled/duck walked slowly down Burnside Ave, trying to decided if I had the nerves to go into the tiny donut shop and ask to use their bathroom even though I couldn’t buy anything since I only had my phone and water bottle with me. I scoped out the bush situation in case I had to resort to popping a squat. I tried to think of the closest grocery store that I knew of. The Safeway on Hawthorne? Way too far. Farther than my house. The Fred Mayer in Hollywood? Closer but still not going to make it. I didn’t know that area of Burnside well enough to know where the nearest park was, the only one I could think of was Mt. Tabor and I was certainly in no condition to climb any hills.
And then it appeared. The answer to all of my poop related prayers.
After trying 2 different doors that were closed and a frantic search of the store to locate the bathroom, disaster was averted. I’ve never been so happy to see a QFC. I wanted to hug every staff member I saw. But instead of proclaiming that this QFC had my favorite bathroom in all of Portland, I quietly continued my run with most of my pride still intact (the duck walk shuffle cost me a few points).
Just another ‘Almost Crapped My Pants’ story from a runner.