Warning: Entry might not be appropriate for people who don’t like to talk/read about poop.
What is the most common response when I would mention I’m training for a marathon (has not changed when I say Ironman instead of marathon)? “Oh, hey, great job!” “That’s quite the commitment.” “How do you find the time?” “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.” Hmm. None of these.
“You’re going to shit your pants.”
I’d rather have, “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.”
A little background: I’m not a runner. I’ve never been a runner. I’ve always been the big girl. I play defense. I shoot the ball. I don’t like to run. I don’t run. Long distance used to mean a quarter mile lap around the track to me.
Until I decided to attempt the Ironman. All of a sudden, I needed to be a runner.
When I decided I’d start this little adventure, I was roughly 40 pounds overweight and miserable. I joined Weight Watchers. I signed up for my first marathon (three years ago this week). All of a sudden, I needed to run. I needed to run regularly. When I get “in to something,” I really get into it. So I focused heavily on eating within my points and making sure I did not skip a workout.
There’s something about eating reasonable, healthy portions of food and increasing the amount you run. It really does a number on your digestive tract. All of a sudden I had these amazing poops. (My system had been a little “off” since I tried the yogurt with the ‘probiotics.’ Nothing really worked as consistently as it once had.) But man when I’d run, it’d get things going again. Sure exercise is supposed to help with those things anyway, but this was great. I knew once I returned home, I’d have a nice healthy shit. The running must have jiggled things loose or something.
Never while I trained for my first marathon did I have digestive tract issues. I take that back. Mile 23-ish: I saw the porta potty. I thought, “I kind of have to go, I should stop.” I didn’t’ stop. I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t get going again. So I kept running. The sensation passed. I knew the “you’re going to shit your pants” people were full of, well, shit. I made it through marathon #1 with no pooping of the pants issues.
There’s a different feeling when you poop because of running (or at least what I’ll blame on running) versus when you just have to go. It’s not an “it’s that time of day, I should go to the restroom” kind of feeling. It’s a sensation that starts in your side. It’s not really like diarrhea . . .where you can feel the pain scoot down your intestine, and you know how fast you should get to the restroom based on how fast the scoot is down your intestine. It’s not a “sit on the pot hoping something comes out” type of feeling. This is more of a sudden jolt in your side and you need to go now kind of feeling. Well, mine is anyway. My other “I’m not a runner” friends and I have discussed the running shits often (who else can you talk to about this?). The running shits are not always urgent. At the time, mine tended to be pretty urgent. Mine were pretty painful. I would cripple over in pain it was so bad.
I started training for my second marathon in August, 2009. I was going to run the Rock & Roll Vegas marathon in December. Training was going well. I felt strong, felt fast (for me). Then shit happened. My job cut back hours (and pay), more shit happened (yes, he’s an asshole). By the end of October, with no job duties on Friday, I was drinking a few too many shots of whiskey after Thursday night kickball. I told myself it worked out perfectly. My house was the exact distance to the bar (where my car was parked) as my Friday morning training runs were. Serendipity, right?
I didn’t really eat those few months prior to the Vegas marathon, I just drank. Heavily. There’s a different feeling when you poop because your liver is bleeding versus when you just have to go. All of a sudden, the “you’re going to shit your pants” line sounded like something that could happen.
The Vegas marathon was a horrible experience for me. The short story: it was too soon. I ran from porta potty to porta potty. I thought for sure I was going to shit my pants. It’s not like running produces a nice solid log coming out either. No, this is the runny, melted milkshake squirting out my ass.
I am pleased to say, I made it through the Vegas marathon without shitting my pants. I thought on at least three occasions that I would have to, but by the grace of God, I made it to the next porta potty each time.
Eventually I laid off the whiskey and my liver stopped bleeding. I worked full time again (with the full time pay, always a bonus). I still had cramping and pain when running, but it was manageable. The area I frequent to run my workouts is nice: I know exactly where the restrooms are and how long it takes me to get there.
A year later, my third marathon experience sucked for a completely different reason. But it seems that my intestinal distress while running has subsided. I now very rarely have intestinal issues. This morning I had the same pain, but nothing urgent. I know right now it has to do with the heat and my body working to keep cool enough.
I’ve always said that I’m not in these races to cross the finish line before anyone; it’s a competition against me. I will make time to stop at the porta potty if I need to. I’m not going to lose any money or anything if I do stop for a bathroom break. I’m not going to win the race, or win my age group because I shit my pants instead of stopping at the porta potty. Shitting my pants is not winning.
What is the most common response when I would mention I’m training for a marathon (has not changed when I say Ironman instead of marathon)? “Oh, hey, great job!” “That’s quite the commitment.” “How do you find the time?” “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.” Hmm. None of these.
“You’re going to shit your pants.”
I’d rather have, “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.”
A little background: I’m not a runner. I’ve never been a runner. I’ve always been the big girl. I play defense. I shoot the ball. I don’t like to run. I don’t run. Long distance used to mean a quarter mile lap around the track to me.
Until I decided to attempt the Ironman. All of a sudden, I needed to be a runner.
When I decided I’d start this little adventure, I was roughly 40 pounds overweight and miserable. I joined Weight Watchers. I signed up for my first marathon (three years ago this week). All of a sudden, I needed to run. I needed to run regularly. When I get “in to something,” I really get into it. So I focused heavily on eating within my points and making sure I did not skip a workout.
There’s something about eating reasonable, healthy portions of food and increasing the amount you run. It really does a number on your digestive tract. All of a sudden I had these amazing poops. (My system had been a little “off” since I tried the yogurt with the ‘probiotics.’ Nothing really worked as consistently as it once had.) But man when I’d run, it’d get things going again. Sure exercise is supposed to help with those things anyway, but this was great. I knew once I returned home, I’d have a nice healthy shit. The running must have jiggled things loose or something.
Never while I trained for my first marathon did I have digestive tract issues. I take that back. Mile 23-ish: I saw the porta potty. I thought, “I kind of have to go, I should stop.” I didn’t’ stop. I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t get going again. So I kept running. The sensation passed. I knew the “you’re going to shit your pants” people were full of, well, shit. I made it through marathon #1 with no pooping of the pants issues.
There’s a different feeling when you poop because of running (or at least what I’ll blame on running) versus when you just have to go. It’s not an “it’s that time of day, I should go to the restroom” kind of feeling. It’s a sensation that starts in your side. It’s not really like diarrhea . . .where you can feel the pain scoot down your intestine, and you know how fast you should get to the restroom based on how fast the scoot is down your intestine. It’s not a “sit on the pot hoping something comes out” type of feeling. This is more of a sudden jolt in your side and you need to go now kind of feeling. Well, mine is anyway. My other “I’m not a runner” friends and I have discussed the running shits often (who else can you talk to about this?). The running shits are not always urgent. At the time, mine tended to be pretty urgent. Mine were pretty painful. I would cripple over in pain it was so bad.
I started training for my second marathon in August, 2009. I was going to run the Rock & Roll Vegas marathon in December. Training was going well. I felt strong, felt fast (for me). Then shit happened. My job cut back hours (and pay), more shit happened (yes, he’s an asshole). By the end of October, with no job duties on Friday, I was drinking a few too many shots of whiskey after Thursday night kickball. I told myself it worked out perfectly. My house was the exact distance to the bar (where my car was parked) as my Friday morning training runs were. Serendipity, right?
I didn’t really eat those few months prior to the Vegas marathon, I just drank. Heavily. There’s a different feeling when you poop because your liver is bleeding versus when you just have to go. All of a sudden, the “you’re going to shit your pants” line sounded like something that could happen.
The Vegas marathon was a horrible experience for me. The short story: it was too soon. I ran from porta potty to porta potty. I thought for sure I was going to shit my pants. It’s not like running produces a nice solid log coming out either. No, this is the runny, melted milkshake squirting out my ass.
I am pleased to say, I made it through the Vegas marathon without shitting my pants. I thought on at least three occasions that I would have to, but by the grace of God, I made it to the next porta potty each time.
Eventually I laid off the whiskey and my liver stopped bleeding. I worked full time again (with the full time pay, always a bonus). I still had cramping and pain when running, but it was manageable. The area I frequent to run my workouts is nice: I know exactly where the restrooms are and how long it takes me to get there.
A year later, my third marathon experience sucked for a completely different reason. But it seems that my intestinal distress while running has subsided. I now very rarely have intestinal issues. This morning I had the same pain, but nothing urgent. I know right now it has to do with the heat and my body working to keep cool enough.
I’ve always said that I’m not in these races to cross the finish line before anyone; it’s a competition against me. I will make time to stop at the porta potty if I need to. I’m not going to lose any money or anything if I do stop for a bathroom break. I’m not going to win the race, or win my age group because I shit my pants instead of stopping at the porta potty. Shitting my pants is not winning.
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