Runner's Trots....Episode #891,223

In the running community, which I'm not cool enough to be a part of there's a dirty little secret that seasoned runners don't always tell you about..

The runner's trots, a.k.a diarrhea cha cha cha, or IT...need I say more?  Probably not, but I'm going to anyway.

In the privacy of your own home, no problem....on a run, it's a different story. WARNING:  If you're not comfortable with talk of defecation, it's time for you to get out of here ASAP.  In my field of work, people always talk to me about their many bathroom trials and tribulations.  Makes sense because I am indeed a gastroenterologist  in the health field and that's code for most people as tell me everything that no one else wants to know.  SCORE!!  As a result, I am now well versed in the bowel movement woes that people endure while sitting on the couch and devouring an entire bag of potato chips and a 2-liter of coke exercising.  I like to think of it as getting to learn vicariously through the experiences of others by listening to EVERY.LAST.DETAIL about their pooping conundrums.  Hmmm, I did not receive this training in my job orientation class and now it's in my everyday convos with my clients. Surprisingly, I have found this experience allowed me to become a better runner.  Say what?!  It's simple you see,  I now know all the things that can go wrong and how to keep my A game still intact on a run.  Get your popcorn and candy ready ladies and gents, it's story time....

On a beautiful Saturday morning in the District (CAUTION:  I have an involuntary reaction to smack people when they refer to D.C as THE DISTRICT...it just sounds so pretentious) while I was approximately 20 minutes into my run, "IT" hit me like Hurricane Irene circa 2011.  This was the worst kind of trouble I've gotten myself into, unless you count the time I got caught trying to pee standing up back in 1985. There was a rumble and a grumble, and I knew I needed to find a wooded area  bathroom faster than a church parking lot clears out after Sunday services.

The "running gods" must have been smiling down on me because 1/4 mile down the path there was a porta-potty.  Perfect...okay not really because here's where it gets a little interesting.  After taking care of business, I realized there was NO toilet paper in the porta-potty.   ZERO.ZIP.ZILCH.  What to do, what to do....? (seriously, what would you do here??) Cha-ching... What's that you ask?  That's me cashing in on the fact that I married an engineer with superb analytical skills and realizing some of his wisdom has finally rubbed off on me. The way I saw it...I had three options to remedy my predicament.

1.  Do nothing and go about my run like nothing smells  happened
2.  Pull a Britney by going commando and use my underwear as toilet paper or
3.  Take off one my $6 socks and use it as toilet paper, not to mention a new fashion trend

This sounds like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure Books, doesn't it?  So exciting!!  Being the fashionista that I am,  I choose door #3. Just call me Mrs. Problem Solver.  Business completed without an accident - check.  Successful clean up - check.  Pride still intact - just barely check. 

That certainly wasn't my first encounter with the runner's trots and isn't likely to be the last.  The moral of the story is always run with socks or a sports bra stuffed with Kleenex. Your welcome.

TGIF!!!

P.S-- This post was written under the influence of two benadryls...I cannot be held responsible for any typos.