Very Funny Post

Please don't read this if you don't honestly "love" me. These are the only people that will survive this post without loosing losing all respect for me. Whew. Here it goes:

I'm finishing up my second month of training (i.e. running), totally encouraged that I have been able to maintain the habit without yet succumbing to injury, fatigue or boredom. However, I'm afraid I became a little prematurely confident this weekend after having tackled a seven-mile run on Wednesday with a surprisingly quick pace. I came upon Saturday (the appointed long-run day) knowing deep down I should back off and settle on a four-miler, but quickly talked myself into an eight mile run. I had a route mapped out, the weather was mild, and generally speaking, the conditions were perfect... almost perfect. Aside from the fact that I had gotten little sleep this last week and felt worn out, the diet of the day was not conducive to a successful long run. That morning, I had brunch at a bridal shower with a bountiful spread. Shortly after the shower, I made my way to a BBQ. At least three hours passed until I set out to run my eight. In my head I thought, "I hope I don't get sick.... I'll be fine." Fine I was not.

Runner's Trots. Have you ever heard of this? I'll spare myself the pain of typing it out. Read here: INFORMATION

As I was saying, fine I was not. I became excessively fatigued at mile four and by the time I hit mile five I could not deny that something was wrong and waiting it out would not be sufficient. The pain was unbearable, my desperation acute. I was yet 2 to 3 miles out from home and in the Spanish Fork wilderness. Frantically, my mind went through the options: A.) Hurry home. But I knew I'd never make it. B.) Pretend like I'm camping and find a secluded "spot." No! No! No! Not today. I needed my humanity today. C.) ....There were no more options!!! And so that left me with only one real option. And so it was done. And I'll leave the account ending there.

I don't know a long distance runner that hasn't suffered through at least a few of these episodes. And if you're close enough to talk about it, it yields the funniest conversations. Here, my friend Chris shares his experience (I reeled with laughter relating to it.):

"The worst part about the semi-long run was the fact that I had major bowel problems. At first I thought I was just having a hard time with the climb up and around the temple. When I got to the top, I actually stopped. I never do that. Maybe I'll slow to a walk, but I never even do that for more than a minute or two, even on the long runs. When I began my descent, that's when I noticed it.

I had to have a bowel movement. This baby was coming and I think I was dilated about 10 cm. I was battling with a couple of things when I realized what I was feeling, A) I felt like I had to finish this run no matter what because I had already missed last week's long run, B) I had already pushed this one all the way back to Thursday as it was so I was already cutting it close, C) I've been cutting out too much mileage overall the last 2-3 weeks so I thought this would seriously hurt my training efforts, and D) I was going to poop my pants. There was just no way around that one.

So I started to think of my options as I ran in between the persistaltic waves of agony. My place was easily the farthest of anyone's that I knew. I could run straight to Mike's and unload there - but it was too far. I would have never made it. Run straight onto campus and find the nearest open building with an available bathroom - still too far. I know. Not even a half mile at the most, but I just wasn't going to be able to make it. Go to some stranger's house and beg for entry - which probably would have worked since I'm in Provo and people here are so darned nice, but I was too embarrassed to beseech someone the use of their bathroom room facilities to take a crap when I've also got about 4.5 miles of sweat caked on me. Final option - run down the hill and silently pray that there would be an open chapel, or some public restroom that I might be able to find. Also complicating things, it was already about 7pm when this was going on, so some places were already closing up shop. I even considered running to the MTC, but decided against.

As I was running in some of the most intensely painful strides I had ever made down any street in my entire life, I had the most fervent and desperate prayer in my heart. Hallelujah! I found a chapel!

It was darkened and all locked up. Now the waves were coming with more force and greater frequency. I wasn't going to make it. At this point I was just absolutely sure that I was going to poo my pants. I even resigned myself to this inevitability, thinking that I, too, like Greg would also be able to claim that I had pooped my pants as an adult while living in the United States (because for foreign serving missionaries, this is not all that uncommon).

And then that's when I finally saw it. A porta-potty (porto?) in the parking lot across the street from the stadium where the Olympic torch ended up the night it settled into Provo in 2002.

Brothers and Sisters...I know that God answers prayers. Seriously. It may sound like I'm blaspheming, but in my most serious tone I can testify to you that that porta-potty had no business being in that parking lot. There was no nearby construction. There was a small building that stood nearby, but everything appeared completely vacant. For quite some time, too.

In events that were set in motion probably months, maybe even year(s) ago, that porta-potty was placed there in anticipation to the most tormented and silent of cries I have ever uttered. If it had been placed even 50 feet farther from the spot that it had been divinely placed, it wouldn't have been near enough to answer my desperate pleading. I kid you not. I was going to die. Or be a terrible, smelly mess. Once I got that out of the way, my pace was great!"

I just can't add to that. I remember the first time Runner's Trots happened to me. It was an 11 mile run on a Saturday night the week before I was to run my first half marathon in March 2003. Luckily, I was only a mile away from the end of my run and able to battle my way home (though scoping out large bushes to dive into the entire time.) For those of you who lack these experiences but desire the ability to empathize, next time you have the flu, prevent yourself from relief... then start running. That's how it feels.

Now I'll go crawl in hole. I can't believe I just blogged about this.