If you have a weak stomach, I’m going to suggest you stop reading. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to tell you about the time I almost pooped my pants. There’s just not a happy ending here.
There are many benefits to exercise. One of which is maintaining a slammin’ body (just sayin’) while eating unbelievable amounts of food. Also, endorphins create a serious feeling of euphoria that is completely underrated. If people understood how amazing it felt to be in shape and have an incredible workout, along with the amazing stress coping capabilities, everyone would do it… all the time. But I have to admit that being an athlete can also be a completely humiliating, pride swallowing endeavor.
My little brother’s socially retarded friend hijacked my Facebook account last month. He posted “I pooped my pant today.” When my brother told me about this, he sounded so worried. He thought I was going to be really mad at the little mongoloid who couldn’t even use proper grammar to prank me. I laughed for three days straight. I mean, I hadn’t pooped my pants in years, if not decades. I’ve prided myself on that accomplishment for some time now. I might have reset the clock today.
I gave up dessert for Lent. One would assume that as a triathlete I don’t eat too much sugar. But I tend to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup. I’ve been supplementing my sugar fix with fresh homemade smoothies. It’s the only way I like fruit. My smoothies are as close to perfection as you can get. Yesterday, craving sweet gooey deliciousness that could have landed me in the fiery pits of hell, I doubled my smoothie intake rather than risk letting down J.C. Today I paid for it. San Pedro, please remember this on the day of my judgment.
Spring sprang in Grosse Pointe today. After months of long runs either inside on a treadmill or outside in snow, ice, freezing puddles, sideways rain and even hail – I got to run in 54 degree sunny weather. The promise of spring was so invigorating; I was running like a rock star. My body was doing everything right and I set a 9:00 mile pace going for ten miles. If you don’t think that pace is super fast I can guarantee no one likes you. Not even a little bit. It was the fastest pace I’d set for myself at that distance, but I’ve gotten pretty good at gauging how hard I can push my body and I knew I could do it. Well, until my body told me I couldn’t.
Three miles into the run I felt it, but at that point I was too committed. There was no turning back. I figured the sensation would go away. I run on Lakeshore Drive, a street lined with mansions. I had never thought about trespassing until today. I find it completely ridiculous that there is not one porta-potty or one public restroom on the highest traffic running path in Grosse Pointe. I blame the millionaires. I wanted to break into their house and show them exactly how I felt about it. Five miles in, I would have been happy leaving a surprise on their doorstep. I felt the cold sweat wash over my body. Six miles in, I called the cavalry. Doubling over in pain I howled a shriek of terror, fearing that the worst possible outcome had happened. There was no way I was going to make it home. My sister, laughing the entire way, came to get me.
Despite the short detour, I did finish all ten miles (though not at my rock star pace) and I can still honestly say I haven’t pooped my pant or pants in years. Decades even. I almost never run with my phone, but today was still cool enough to run with a vest. Next month that won’t be an option. I got lucky today and so did everyone else in Grosse Pointe. Lakeshore Drive residents, you’ve been warned. Just. Sayin.
