Everyone Poops

Back before I started blogging, I kept an online weekly diary for my track club's marathon training program. The first few months, I never received feedback. Then I wrote the following post and everything changed. People started commenting - praising me, even - on a very active message board.

After having a conversation this weekend with a friend who maintains you aren't a real runner until you pee or poop on yourself, I decided to rummage up that 9-year-old piece to repost here.

File This One Under TMI (Too Much Information)

Way back when my sister and I were planning our first marathon, we relied primarily on word of mouth for training tips. With each new piece of information, we’d mull over the possibility -- falling behind pace; overdosing on Gatorade; running in rain -- and adjust our expectations accordingly. (We would also, unfortunately, encounter all of these situations and then some that October morning.) About three weeks before the big day, my sister called. I still remember her exact words. She’d just talked to a woman who’d run a marathon and had this to report: “She said her body was so numb by the end that she didn’t even notice she’d pooped on herself.”

Say what?

Suddenly, staying hydrated was no longer my No. 1 concern. Making sure I didn’t do No. 2 was. It still is. Beginning on Fridays, I start worrying that what goes into my body won’t come out before early Saturday morning. The longer the course and warmer the weather, the more difficult it is to find that delicate balance. I have taken great care this training season to limit the number of pit stops by eating at the same time, the same meal and the same amount of liquid leading up to our run.

Until last night.

My eating and sleeping schedule was thrown seriously out of whack by my father’s retirement party in Long Beach. It was a beautiful evening spent dining and reminiscing on a restaurant rooftop. And under normal circumstances, we’d have left early or stayed overnight as the festivities wore on. But we’d driven the guest of honor to his party, and I didn’t want to miss the highly touted Low Tide Run for a second year in a row. And so I began worrying in the wee hours of the morning that combining mushroom ravioli, grilled salmon and a heap of heavily doused mixed greens may not have been a swell idea. A few hours later, around 5:30 a.m., I started going to the bathroom and couldn’t stop.

I hit the Women’s Room at La Jolla Shores a couple of times before our run. But before we had conquered the first set of slimy rocks on the beach, I could feel my intestines roiling again. I do remember appreciating those ahead of us warning of slippery passages (such teamwork!), but even as Denise T. and I moved miles through the sand towards Torrey Pines State Beach, my mind was in the toilet. When I discovered there was a waiting line at the restrooms near the first water stop, my heart sank. It had taken us an hour to get only 5 miles; this would not improve things. I’m actually glad I hadn’t heard of the switch to 17 miles, versus a 2:30 time limit, for today’s course or I’d have been even more disheartened by this setback.

Then a funny thing happened. I finished doing my business and immediately felt better. Way better. I had no trouble taking that first hill into Del Mar. I could have made it to Via de la Valle, but I’m glad I didn’t because I’d done the La Jolla Half Marathon and I knew what awaited. I watched as Louise R. headed steadily up the steep slope at the cliffs, toward that the famed golf course, and knew I had to catch her. To her credit, it took me a lot longer that I expected.

I quickened the pace between the next two water stops, as instructed, and was pleased I ran 9-minute miles, just as planned. It helped those two miles were downhill, of course. Which was the other cool thing. For a split second, I could hang with the faster folks as we decelerated down that final, steep hill. At some point, a group of women pulled up alongside and if I eavesdropped accurately, they were essentially discussing bathroom issues. One wondered if coffee provided the best road to regularity and if so, when to drink it. Another had her own theory on hot lemon water as a laxative. I was going to suggest mixing a highly acidic salad with overstuffed pasta and oily fish, following by a generous portion of super-sweet cake.

The end to this run is the best part. I loved seeing everyone soaking their tired limbs along the misty shoreline, smiling and laughing through chattering teeth while a surfing competition continued. I just pray the pain I endured standing thigh-deep in that freezing ocean water pays off tomorrow with less stiff legs and no sore feet.

Back at one of the aid stations, someone had mentioned this past week’s medical news about a potentially fatal condition from drinking too much fluid during intense exercise.  I never knew it’s possible to actually gain weight during the marathon if you drink too much water and sports drinks.  That’s why race officials now want runners to record their starting weights inside their bibs, to help them determine if this condition is behind a sudden illness.

So now it’s possible to put on pounds running 26 miles in one spurt? I could think of only one thing while mulling over this possibility: Crap.