Oh Sh#t!!!!

One of the first questions I always seem to get asked when I reveal that I run ultras is, "what do you do if you have to go to the bathroom?"  Of course I laugh, then reveal that I rarely head out on a long run without toilet paper.

If you've done any sort of long distance running, you've been there.  You know it all too well.  You are running along and all of a sudden you feel a slight shift under the skin right below your stomach.  "Uh, oh."  The next thing you know, you are penguin walking with your cheeks squeezed tightly together.  If you are lucky, there's a rumble in your gut and the immediate danger is temporarily over.  At that point, you start running again and shift into bargaining mode with your body.  "PLEASE just let me make it home.  I promise you, its only five more minutes."  If you are really lucky, you make it home and get to relieve yourself in the comfortable confines of your own bathroom, but we all know that doesn't always happen.

If you can't make it home, perhaps you are lucky enough to waddle upon a Starbucks or a McDonald's.  You quickly dart toward the bathroom, but the door is locked.  You stand outside the door, cheeks squeezed tight enough to turn coal into diamonds muttering, "come on, come on."   The door finally opens and out walks a disheveled six year old.  You try not to knock him out of the way as you scramble through the the door and lock it behind you.  Your peril should be over, but you peer down at the toilet seat that is covered in wet toilet paper and puddles of fresh urine.  You'd try to squat but you've just run sixteen miles at marathon goal pace, so you have no confidence in your legs holding you up.  You grunt and frantically dance around trying not to soil yourself while trying to clean off the disgusting toilet seat and cover the seat with a couple inadequate layers of toilet paper.

At the last possible moment, you sit down and...RELIEF.  Dripping sweat in the stagnant air due to the lack of air conditioning in the bathroom, you clean up and get ready to finish your run.  You open the door and waiting outside the door is an attractive member of the opposite sex who is first stunned, then appalled by the smell wafting out of the door.  That's all completely hypothetical, of course.  It never happened to me.

No one outside of ultra runners want to talk about it, but I will.  Why? Because, let's face it...it's really kind of funny when you think about it.  Maybe not at the time, but it is funny.  You can sympathize when you run by someone pinching the cheeks, but you laugh.  You laugh because you can relate.

When you gotta go, you gotta go.  I know someone who was in such dire straits that he had to pop a squat between cars in mid-town Manhattan.  I've had friends come back from a run with one less sock or glove, heck even I've done it, although I'll look for leaves, newspaper, or pretty much anything to keep from sacrificing a $10 sock.

Once, while on a run in Brooklyn, the feeling hit right about the top of the Williamsburg Bridge.  As I frantically tried to get home, I was checking every street for a nook or cranny.  I knew I was getting to the critical point.  Businesses in Brooklyn don't exactly let people stroll in and use their restrooms, and the area I was in didn't have any fast food joints.  Luckily, I made it home just in the nick of time.  I tore the front door open and made a bee line for the bathroom, but the door was shut.  My roommate was showering.  I stood in the kitchen, cheeks clinched, dancing around, trying to decide what to do.  My options were limited.  Risk disaster and wait it out, or open the window (the only way into our backyard...hey, its Brooklyn) and use the back yard.  Time was running extremely short.  I was on borrowed time.  Just as I made the decision to head into the back yard, the bathroom door opened.  I shoved my roommate out of the way, and shut the door.  Close call.

For the two years I lived in Brooklyn, there was a Burger King at the base of the Williamsburg Bridge that was my savior.  I can't even tell you how many times the BK saved me.  Enough that a few of the workers there recognized me when I came in.  In NYC, I knew every Starbucks location, not for coffee, but for restrooms.  Of course, you always ran the risk of sharing the restroom with a homeless person bathing in the sink, but that was better than the alternative.

My girlfriend ran the Boston Marathon a couple years back.  For those that don't know, the Boston Marathon shuttles runners from Boston Common out to the start in Hopkinton.  Runners typically sleep, chat nervously, or go through their race prep on the ride out.  This particular year, as Katie's bus was traveling to the start, a guy quickly made his way to the front of the bus and had a quick discussion with the bus driver.  The bus pulled over to the side of the road and the gentleman darted out the door and toward the trees.  He immediately dropped his pants and took care of business, in view of a busload of other runners.  My guess is that he got back on that bus, head held high, and was greeted with nods of understanding.  Maybe not, but I bet almost everyone on that bus understood.

Speaking of the Boston marathon, the year I ran, we came upon a guy at mile 18 that had suspicious streaks running the length of the back of his legs.  He was running with a strange gait, and as we closed in, we confirmed that he'd soiled himself at some point miles back.  I have to applaud his dedication, though I'm not sure I'd continue at that point.  I have pictures of the guy, and no, you don't want to see them.

My first unfortunate experience with all of this came when I was in college and training for my second marathon. I had the rumbles hit me somewhere around mile 14 or so on a Saturday morning training run.  The route went out by the airport in College Station, and at the time there was little to nothing out that way.  I looked everywhere for a dark clump of trees, a big ditch, anything.  I couldn't see anywhere that wasn't in site of both the road and other runners.  My only option was to gamble and try to get to the airport.  I won't go into details, but I lost that gamble.  I didn't lose bad enough to look like the guy I saw in Boston, but it was bad enough to cause some chafing.  When I got to the airport, I went straight into the restroom and cleaned up.  The remaining problem was that I still had to run back to campus.  When I saw the coach drive by, I start limping and faked an injury to get a ride back.

Over the years, I've learned to prepare for the worst, but I've also learned to take an inventory of my surroundings before popping a squat.  Unfortunately for a cyclist, and myself, he either forgot to look around or was in such a bad spot, that he didn't survey first.  I was on a trail run in the greenbelt in Austin a couple years ago, when I popped out on the road for a short out-and-back before returning to the trails.  As I ran onto the road, I noticed a cyclist drop his bike and head onto the trail.  When I returned to the trail, I rounded a corner and looked up on a small rise to see a bare butt.  And yes, he was in the middle of the deed.  He apparently didn't realize that he rounded a corner and though he was concealed from the area of trail he came off, he was exposed to the trail he'd come in on.  I continued running and didn't say a word as I passed his position.

The stories are pretty much endless, but as some point I have to wrap this up.  Most of you who are reading probably relate to at least one of the stories, but if if none of this sounded familiar to you...just keep running, and eventually, it will.