Of Dogs and Runners

Last week I peed in a bush. No need to read the line again, it says what it says. I squatted like an animal and peed in the bush. I tell you this not to ruin your meal, but to inform you that I have crossed over into a full fledged distance runner. Unlike when I joined my sorority, where there was a deeply moving ceremony where I was embraced by an amazing sister-hood, there was no embracing here. Instead, my friend and running buddy, stood watch while I huddled low under a bush and let it flow. My back receiving welts and scratches from the thorny bush that obscured me from sight.

Let me first say that never in my wildest imagination would I ever have believed that this scene was possible. I am a lady. I may occasionally burp or release an SBD, but generally those things can't be helped. Like that dude from Ally McBeal, I like a clean bowl, before I take care of business. So if anyone had told me two months ago that I would be handling my business all out in the open, I would have laughed in their face and slapped them with a dainty white glove. So what in the hell led me to such a crass act? A full bladder plus a seven mile run and no bathroom in sight, equals, the runner's squat.

There were hints a few months back from the seasoned runners about bodily functions and long runs. They would impress upon us novice runners to keep tissues in out pockets for "emergencies." There was the constant reminders that the park district didn't open their bathrooms until after Memorial Day, so be mindful. A few mentioned scoping out scenery, while giggling about stomach issues. I guess I was dense because I didn't get it. I thought the tissues were for a snot attack, and scoping out the scene was for pure aesthetic enjoyment. I didn't care about the lack of restrooms because, well, I peed at home before I left. In fact during out shorter runs (4, 5 miles), and discomfort I felt was temporary because the run was so short. I could hold it, and as a proper young woman I would. However, as the runs got longer, more Gatorade was consumed, and the restrooms became non-existent, things got jacked up!

On this day, Vickie (names have been changed, although I don't know why, I'm the one embarrassed here), and I are about a mile into the run. Before heading downtown, I had consumed about 12 ounces of water to give me some base hydration for the run. I waited to go potty before leaving, as I knew that there was no place to go on the run. Anyhoo, as I'm running, I feel my bladder filling up, and that icky sloshing feeling. Despite this I keep going, assuming that I had the mental fortitude to block out the discomfort. I'm slowing my pace hoping that it would ease the pain. It didn't. I continued to run, gripping stomach as though somehow I could push the pain back inside. It didn't. Vickie, notices my discomfort and ask if I'm ok. I share with her that I feel like my insides are going to explode and I have no idea what to do. Vickie scopes the scene and points out a row of neatly manicured bushes off to the right. She says without skipping a beat, "how about over there?" I look to the bushes, and wonder to myself, "how about over there what?" Vickie says that it looks secluded enough that no one will see me. It is then that I get it! OMG! Is there no where else to go? As I contemplate this, my bladder is singing. "You'll never make it six more miles, never." I look at Vickie and then at the bushes, and back at Vickie. I search her face for the slightest glimpse of disgust or judgement. All I see is her concern. She is waiting to stand guard, waiting for the command. We meet eyes, and I know what I have to do. I trot off path, and obscure my self deep inside the bush. I drop trough, and I pray. I pray that no one sees me, because really what is there to say. I finish, grab my "emergency" tissue, and gather myself together. I sneak out the bushes like Swiper the Fox, and meet up with Vickie again. I wait for her to lament-"uhn, you naaasty!" She doesn't. She smiles and ask, "ready?", and I was.

At the end of those seven miles, I was a mixture of emotions. Elated that I had run farther than I ever thought I could. Embarrassed, as I watched a golden retriever assume the same position I had earlier. One of the more experienced runners came up to me and asked about the run. I blurted out to her what I had done, and she flashed a big smile. She asked it I had my tissues, and I told her that I did. She hugged me tight, and whispered in my ear, "Welcome to the road."