Junie 1844-332-2639 ext 397
This morning’s run was supposed to be one of those “main character” moments. You know, the kind where the air is crisp, your playlist hits perfectly, and you feel unstoppable. It was the first war weather we’ve had this year, so I wanted to take advantage of it.
Instead, I humbled myself in ways I didn’t think were possible… with my morning run.
It started with a decision I knew better than to make: loading up on fiber before heading out. In theory? Health. Discipline. Wellness. In reality? A ticking time bomb.
Morning Run Relief
I met up with a group, which immediately eliminated any chance of turning back or stopping without making it a whole thing. So I committed. Pace steady. Smile on. Pretending everything was completely fine.
About halfway through, it hit.
Not subtle. Not negotiable.
And then… the smell.
At first, I genuinely thought someone else had definitely had an accident. I even slowed slightly, trying to create distance from the source like I was above the situation. But the problem was… the smell followed me. Exactly me. Step for step. I had already started to relieve myself, and the feeling was so liberating. I had never felt so gross and exposed in my life.
That’s when reality set in.
There’s a very specific kind of panic that comes from realizing you are both the victim and the culprit. And yet, I had no choice but to keep going. No exits. No breaks. Just me, my dignity hanging by a thread, and the longest few miles of my life. The feeling of wetness down my shorts was so erotic.
Every step to the 6-mile mark felt like a negotiation with the universe. Head up. Don’t make eye contact. Act normal. No one knows.
Except I knew.
By the time I crossed the finish line, I wasn’t thinking about pace or distance or performance. I was thinking about survival. About getting out of there with whatever pride I had left.
Lesson learned: wellness is great. Fiber is great.
Just… not before a group run
Junie 1844-332-2639 ext 397
(Phonesex)
(TLC)
(Sinfully)