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Coming clean

"And I was running." Yup. Forest Gump. That's who I have been this week. Running when and where I can. No bikes while on the road but still working on za plan. Yesterday, 1 point 5 hours straight. Running 1.5 hours here in San Francisco. Crazy.

Crazy also that I am getting used to it. The body is acclimatizing to it. Maybe too much. Then yesterday it happened. I finished up said long run in the warm and rare summer San Francisco sun and was still about 15 minutes from my hotel. Slight pangs from my now well mixed lower intestine started to ping my brain "you better get home." Making my way back from the Embarcadero, Japanese tourists stopped me to ask where the BART station is. I just looked at them with the face of a serial killer. They said nothing and walked away from me. Slowly. I am now sweating. Like a flu but it's not a flu. It's fear and leaking poop. I'm sick but actually not sick. I think it's what they call incontinence or something. I am now 5 minutes out. Just a slow walk through the lobby, a ride up the elevator, a couple of legs of hall way, key access to door and I am golden.

I make it to the elevator. Door closing. An f-ing hand comes in to block the infrared beam and it re opens. All this is happening in slow motion. I smell myself. I can only think of Willem Defoe in that scene in Platoon when he is left behind by Charlie Sheen when the helicopter flies away and he gets whacked by the VC. I am done for. This family walks in and I am a sweaty mess. Head down looking at the floor. Legs crossed praying that any micro draft does not carry across the 6 x 6 foot elevator by the time we reach the 7th floor and they discover my identity of disgusting sickness. They hit no buttons. They get off on 7 with me. They lead out and I follow. Get the f out of my way. Just get away from me. Slow. So slow. Walk faster you idiots or I will crap on you. They walk to room 726. I am 728. Neighbors. Key cards out and open they enter my room and I into mine.

I just go into the bathroom and start to laugh/cry. Wimper sort of but with a humor. I am broken.

I love running. I love being athletic.

Reader Comments (5)

nothing beats a good shitting your pants story!

July 3, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterTim

Dude, the same thing happened to me once while running - 3 miles from home I just had to debowel, stomach hurt so bad I thought I was gonna die - no toilets anywhere but aaahh! there's a bush, 20 feet from 'The World's Busiest Traffic Lights' - don't care I'm going in. So there I am pumping mud as 'Mr and Mrs 9 to 5' sit in their motors 20 feet away totally unaware! The best poo I ever took, I love nature me!

July 3, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterAnonymous

Nothing beats a good runner almost shitting their pants story with my morning coffee at work.

This always seems to happen to me or one of my buddies when we decide to go running after a night of drinking less filling beverages. How running became the thing to do when hungover is a mystery?

July 3, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterCharles

Honestly,n I wish I could use a hangover as an excuse. I am getting old I guess. The pipes are leaky.

July 3, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterGreg

i just about laughed my arse off reading that...because i've been there, man!

god, i love running. what the hell did i start doing all this bike riding nonsense for?

July 3, 2007 | Unregistered Commenterhixson

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