Scenario: When you’ve been for a jog despite hating exercise with a passion. You get caught short and are forced to shit in a field except you were a minute too late and are now required to expel the contents of your pants into the nearby ditch before making a familiar phone call to your husband to be collected.
Actually not me this time. Very surprising.
I don’t even know how I was spared this one. Probably because I don’t jog. Don’t get me wrong it’s not that I don’t want to, I’d love to pop out in a morning and get 5k under my belt before breakfast but my body literally won’t do it. I did a short spell of boot camps in our local park a couple of years ago which included some running and no word of a lie, about three weeks into it my left hip broke. Well kind of. It just stopped working. Sitting down, bending, getting in and out of bed and sitting on the loo were just a few things that I found excruciatingly painful and so it was because of this that my running career ended before it began. Instead of being dedicated and continuing my boot camp regime at all costs and against all odds (only having one working hip) I gave up immediately replacing the boot camp sessions with half hearted home workouts and plenty of tea and biscuits, which my hip thanked me for and after a few more weeks reluctantly began participating in my life once again.
My friend’s sister was actually the student in this life lesson. Doing great on her jog, nearly half way round the route she had chosen when that urgent, all knowing feeling reared its ugly head she had no other option than to hot foot it through the hedge into the nearest field. Undoubtedly thanking her lucky stars she’d had the good sense to choose a quiet route instead of the park that would have been crawling with cyclists, runners and overly eager dog walkers, it was unfortunate that she didn’t quite make it the whole way round without cacking her pants. Luckily it was a baked potato situation and not a chocolate milkshake situation, which apparently she is no stranger to, so for small things we must be grateful. Apparently this was not her first time doing the pooey pants tango. It appears she seems to be an expert in dancing this dance. It was therefore no surprise to anyone when she had to make the dreaded call to her husband instructing him to bring the car immediately and to make sure he brought a number of towels, the wet wipes and a large can of air freshener.
I wanted to share this unfortunate incident to mainly highlight what a dangerous sport running, or in fact any sport is, that involves the outdoors with no facilities within bum clenching distance. Paula Radcliffe knows this only too well. Competing at the highest level, representing her country running her heart out only to be put in the unthinkable position of having to choose between losing her place in the race by exiting to use the lav, or squatting brazenly at the side of the road on a very public, highly televised competitive run so she could fire out a shit at the speed of light before continuing the race like nothing had happened.
Before you make any rash decisions regarding such high risk activities there are a few basic points I feel are important to consider…
- Have I eaten bran flakes, prunes or porridge in the last 24 hours?
- Are my gym leggings easy to get off in a bowel movement emergency situation?
- Do I enjoy having the use of both my hips?
After answering these questions if you still decide to venture into the unpredictable, fairly terrifying world of jogging then Godspeed.