The post in which I tell my most embarrassing story.

6 Jul

I read a fantastic blog post on Single Dad Laughing the other day about his days as a Boy Scout and what I’ll call a poop-tastrophe. (It’s a really funny story, I highly recommend clicking over there and taking a moment to read it.) He then asked if anyone had a similarly embarrassing story to share. Which of course got me thinking…

If we’re honest with ourselves, we all have at least one of those cringe-inducing embarrassing moments. Upon reflection, I’ve realized that more of those seem to have happened in my younger years. I’m not sure if that’s a result of my being more easily humiliated back then, or me just not giving a rat’s arse as I have gotten older.

It turns out that the majority of these events involve either a) my kids or b) running. For example – the time the president of a board I serve on (who is a serious kind of person) called the house and my daughter politely explained after answering that mom couldn’t come to the phone because “she’s pooping.” The gentleman and I went on to pretend that never happened.

Not the run in question. Boilermaker 2010

Then there was my own poop-tastrophe. (Yes. I’m writing about this.) Anyone who runs with any seriousness for any more than a couple of miles can tell you two things: where the bathrooms are along their route, and which houses have big dogs that run loose (generally, we’ll change a route after discovering the latter.) I was a high school sophomore out for a long run. I was probably 45 minutes out when that dreaded feeling started in my belly. (This was also the day I learned not to drink Yoo Hoo as an energy drink before heading out for some exercise.) There is no one on this planet that has not had that feeling – which is only made worse by being anywhere but home. Preferably in sweatpants. When you’re running and you have that feeling of impending doom, you’re faced with an impossible choice: you know running makes it worse, but it may be your only of getting to a restroom in time.

I was far enough out on my run that I knew I would never make it to the nearest bathroom. My route went along some woods – I had no choice – the woods it would have to be. Except the woods ran along this sort of busy road and I didn’t want anyone to see me ducking in because then they would know. I should point out that this was Staten Island, New York. I was raised in Brooklyn. I did not poop outside. Ever. City girl. I kept running, waiting for a lull in the traffic, but also making the situation more urgent and then finally, my chance!

Did I mention these woods were along a pond?  My undercarriage got mosquito bites in places NO ONE should ever get mosquito bites. No one. The whole time, I’m simultaneously trying to keep my precious running shoes clean, listen out for nearing people and praying that no car would slow down enough to see what was going on a few feet from the road.  I did what I could do to clean up – sacrificing the only item of clothing I could. (Guess.) I considered running over to the pond to wash up a bit more but these woods were frequented by other members of my track team who I was sure were just steps away from my discovery. I was left with no choice but to jog over to the local pizzeria, t-shirt tied around my waist, to call my Mom collect from the payphone to come pick me up. (Why did they not invent cell phones sooner?) I still distinctly remember asking her to bring a towel – she was always fastidious about the car’s upholstery – and her asking “why”? I was all like “JUST BRING IT MOM!!” I also clearly remember her eyes widening in understanding when she finally did arrive.

The moral of the story – when you have to make an emergency poop stop while you’re running and then you keep going – you are a runner. And when your kid tells a relative stranger about your bowel movements – you are a mom. And when something utterly mortifying happens to you – you are human, and you live to tell blog about it!

I think that’s what they mean when they say “what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Or maybe “shit happens.”

So come on – share your embarrassing story. It will only make you stronger!


6 Responses to “The post in which I tell my most embarrassing story.”

  1. Mary Lynn Paniccia July 6, 2011 at 7:59 am #

    Those two stories are hysterical. Even though I can relate to both of them, it’s the running story I loved the most, and is my most feared running nightmare I have every time I leave the house for a long run. Good luck on you up-coming 9 mile race this weekend, but more importantly… Thank God for the porterpotties along the route! 🙂

    • Beth - Realist Mom July 6, 2011 at 8:03 am #

      It happens to the best of us! My biggest fear is that happening and there’s no where to go!!

  2. Trish July 6, 2011 at 10:51 am #

    Awesome. In high school, my friend went to her boyfriend’s house for dinner to meet his parents for the first time. She suddenly had that #2 feeling and excused herself to the powder room…which is located in the kitchen where they were eating. She did her business, went to flush, and the toilet overflowed all over the bathroom floor and under the door into the kitchen.

  3. amanda July 6, 2011 at 11:03 am #

    I got caught out on the top of a mountain on Skye in Scotland. I very carefully wedged myself where I thought I couldn’t be seen by other hikers and got on with the necessary, only to rdiscover, when I was doing up my trousers and turned round, that I had been in full view of the climbers coming up the cliff behind me. Ah well, thankfully I was only peeing….

    • Beth - Realist Mom July 6, 2011 at 10:07 pm #

      I have also done that – but not on a mountain in Scotland. More like a bush in Brooklyn. Thanks for sharing!!

  4. Izarra Varela July 7, 2011 at 2:44 am #

    That’s bad, but I can do one better:

    Similar situation: I was 5+ miles from home on a run. I was running—as it were—on avocado and coffee; this was before that critical tipping point in my life where I realized that food actually has an effect on how my body behaves.

    Anyway, after summiting this hill, I got that horrible gurgly feeling, and found, to my horror that the bathrooms were locked. (Locked bathrooms AT THE TOP OF A HILL!!? Thanks, City of Portland, but seriously: WHO DOES THAT!!?)

    I decided that my best option was to duck off the road and to my business in the bushes.

    I did not realize that my, uh, bushes abutted a single-family house. As it were.

    At the sound of a screen door opening and someone one, a guy, calling out “Hello there!,” I pulled up my shorts and ran as fast as I could back home.

    That’s a loooong 5 miles.

    Anyway, thanks for the hilarious story and fabulous blog. I’ll be looking forward to your next post.

    Izarra “Hello Internet, I Have No Shame” Varela

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