Potty training

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers"
Blanche DuBois ~ A streetcar named Desire

Running is not a pretty sport. It's not like some of those indoor activities like aerobics, yoga, or zumba, where you can dress in a flattering color-coordinated outfit, slap on same make up, and decide how much, or how little you want to sweat, thus determining how attractive you look once the activity is over. No, running is, I'm sorry to say it, just kind of ugly.

First and foremost, you sweat. A lot. Especially down here in Georgia. Running in Georgia gives new meaning to sweating in fact. For instance, did you know that the insides of your elbow can sweat? And the back of your knees? No? Well, they can, trust me. Second, because of this excessive sweat-production, any make up you may choose to wear (or forget to take off like I do), will end up in Johnny Depp-like-circles around your eyes, having you come home looking like racoon. And third, this same problem will also have your plastered onto your forehead, your neck in about a mile. And sure, one can try to color-coordinate running outfits, but because most runners go out more than once or twice a week, there will come that time when you realize your maroon running shorts haven't been washed yet, and thus you're stuck wearing your maroon top with your purple shorts. And it just really goes downhill from there. There's discomfort, panting, cramps, and so on. It's just not nice.

But there is one thing runners don't usually talk about. Maybe it's because it's just a little embarrassing. Maybe it's because they think they're the only ones. I don't know. Since I have never shied away from things yucky, I'll just come right out and say: bowel movements. Yes, running makes you want to do number 2. Honestly. Ask any runner, and after some prodding they will probably all admit, no matter how reluctantly, that they have all had to race home, pull their pants down while running through the house, tripping over their own shoes, only to make it to the bathroom just in time (or not).

I'm sure there's some logical explanation for it, something to do with the motion of your body setting off your intestines. But regardless of what causes it, this problem is a pain in the butt, to coin a phrase. Especially when you're a beginning runner. You see, once you've been running for a while, all you really have to do is put on your running outfit, and your body realizes, "Uh-oh, we're about to go shake up our intestines, let's go number two NOW". And you do. It's really quite ideal, because all I have to do nowadays is pull out my running shoes, and my body goes into total expulsion mode. I mean I'm in the bathroom two, sometimes even three times. It's perfect.

But every once in a while, things don't time out that well. And last Wednesday night was one of those times. I came home from work, had dinner, needed to run, and it was getting dark, so I got changed and off I went. Husband-dear decided to bike alongside me, and the first half all was merry. I ran, he biked, we talked, it hurt. It was great. Then during the second half, my stomach started to act up. And soon I realized I had to go. Go as in go really badly. As in, I don't know if I am going to make it home. And when you're two miles away from your house, running through suburbia with not a ditch or a clump of trees in sight, you know you're in trouble.

So here I am, running my butt off, while trying to hold it all together at the same time too, while husband-dear is giving really helpful advice like, "Just go in your pants if you can't hold it", or while pointing at a seedling of a tree right in front of someone's house "You could go behind that little tree right there". Just for the record, husband-dear, during his marathon training, has had accidents in his pants, and so he thinks nothing of doing what you need to do. Especially if the cramps are making you growl guttural sounds through clenched teeth, which is what I was doing at the time.

But then I saw a lady standing outside her house, watering her yard. And suddenly I could not have been more grateful to be living in the south. Because when I ran up to hear, with my dark running glasses on, my hair all over my face, and sweat liberally covering, well, everything, and asked her if I could please use her bathroom, she said, "Why sure you can!"

Now I don't know about you, but I have a hard time imagining anyone in Holland being that inviting. I can just picture them glancing you over once, twice, perhaps three times, and then tell you something like, "Well, my daughter is in the shower right now, I'm sorry, no", at which point the lack of motion has fooled your body into thinking you're in the bathroom, and you've just had your accident on their driveway.

There were no accidents anywhere, this time. The lady led me to her bathroom, and then went outside to resume her watering. Once again, I'm sure any Dutch person worth their salt (including myself) would have at least stayed inside the house to make sure the runner wasn't trying to hide the family silver in their spandex shorts. But not this lady.

Needless to say that after hogging her bathroom for a good five minutes, thanking her profusely, I wrote her a thank you card and dropped it off at her house yesterday. After all, saving someone from a very embarrassing accident is probably the nicest thing anyone can do.