TMI Warning: This post is not for the faint of heart, easily disgusted, or readily offended.
To capture the true essence of what happened today I think we need to begin yesterday evening around 5:30 p.m.. While I should have been at least in the beginning throes of preparing dinner for my family I was instead making a monster batch of chocolate-covered pretzels to give as a gift. I had two kinds of chocolate going and multiple sprinkle-ish toppings. It was glorious. And way too tempting to resist. In fact, when there was a knock on the front door around 6 o'clock I had to quickly wipe away any tell-tale traces of chocolate around my mouth before greeting the visitor. (The Avon lady, if you must know. My 5 year-old runlet found out they carry Hannah Montana wares.)
When 7 o'clock came and my husband asked what was for dinner, the best I could do was glance around my chocolate-spattered, sprinkle-riddled kitchen and shrug. His solution: buffalo chicken pizza.
Okay, NOT a good combination with all that chocolate. I was literally awoken at 1 a.m., 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. with horrible stomach cramps. When 5 a.m. came I decided to go ahead and get up and try to resolve the GI issue before my run. It took a little while but I finally thought I was all clear. I took some Imodium, ate my GU, and headed out to meet Runner Neighbor at 6:15--yeah, that's late in our world; she knew something was up.
I told RN my woes and assured her I felt okay to run and thought the route had enough bail-out spots that it wouldn't be an issue. Famous last words. I did actually feel pretty good for the first two miles or so but then I started to fade, quickly. Just as I passed my final bail-out spot, the shit hit the fan. So to speak. I honest to God thought I was going to have emergency diarrhea right there on Charles Street. The panic induced by the situation brought on a horrible wave of nausea. Now I wasn't sure which end I should be worried about. Heck, it wouldn't have surprised me if I had started bleeding out of my orifices as well. It was the.absolute.worst. moment in running in my entire life. I had to stop, calm myself down, and send RN ahead without me.
I wanted to collapse and curl in the fetal position on the side of the road. I couldn't bear the thought of forward motion. BUT I wanted to get home too and that was the overriding desire. I managed to walk the next quarter of a mile, taking deep breaths and visualizing a trauma-free return home. Eventually the panic subsided, the cramps diminished, and the nausea disappeared completely. When I has half a mile from my house I decided it would be better to run at that point and shorten the distance between myself and a bathroom, should the horror return.
Fortunately I made it home safe and sound. But with emotional scars I may carry for years. Now I can't help but wonder, what in the world do I do if that happens during a long run or a race????
Today's Miles: 3
Total Miles: 156
2 comments:
So was this one of those eventful runs? hee hee no pun intended :D It happens to the best of us...I had one of those ~6 months ago. I made it, but barely.
Speaking from experience during a race, you pray to god that you can make it to the port-o-potty. As soon as you realize that's not going to happen, you start desperately looking for a good spot to veer off the course. In my case, you're lucky enough that you're running on a trail that has high grasses and a ditch on at least one side that you can run into and hide while you do what you couldn't possibly wait any longer to do.
I'm thinking about running the Denver half-marathon in October, but this is one of the reasons I'm scared to...it's completely along city streets (although it does go through a park or two). I might have to keep going until I find the next open Starbucks! :-p
Post a Comment