WARNING: The story you are about to read contains graphic and disturbing images that you may not wish to have burned into your memory. You may want to wait until after you've eaten before reading this story.
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Sometimes I'm as bright as a burnt out light bulb.
Yesterday, due to the three day weekend, I decide to do about a hundred things in the yard. I gather the family, make a plan, and we tackle the mountain of things that need to be done. The most time consuming and physically laborious task is pressure washing the house, sidewalks, stone blocks, driveway, RV pad, neighbor children, and anything else that looks slightly dirty. I attacked the challenge like a madman. Nine hours later, I am exhausted.
Today after church I am still so exhausted that I immediately fall asleep after lunch. After three hours of sleeping, dozing, drooling, and mumbling incoherent phrases, I awake fully non-energetic.
But I have plans. Running plans. Plans to run with my friend Joe. However, something is not right. I should not feel like this. I chalk it up to working too hard yesterday. I can't back out of running. I have my pride. My ego. I am Running Man.
Our plan is to run about six miles on two trails connected by a few blocks on the street. Not too difficult. At least for Joe. Joe the Ironman. Joe, the one in the peak of his training for another triathlon. I think he is running/biking/swimming half way across the country or something. Definitely more than six miles. Me, on the other hand, have no plans to run a triathlon. My plans still involve running to the fridge for more whipped cream to put on top of my ice cream. Or for longer distances, I run - in the car - to the store for a box of Twinkies. But Joe, now he can run. He is like the Energizer Bunny, he keeps going and going and going.
I have my pride. My ego. My stupidity. Surely I can keep up with The Animal. We take off at a torrid pace, Joe leading the way. Gasping, grunting, wheezing, and staggering, I manage to keep him within eye sight. He glances back and asks if the pace is OK. "No problem," I respond. Actually, it takes me several attempts before I can get all of the words out.
"No."
"Pr."
"Ob."
"Lem."
Each syllable comes out as I try to calculate if I have enough air to actually breath while at the same time as talking. "Problem" is actually two syllables, but I have to change it to three. It takes four steps, but I manage to communicate with him.
Joe smiles and speeds up.
We reach the end of the trail and turn around. We've gone around three miles, but it feels more like three hundred miles. I get a burst of energy and things feel better for about one mile.
Then it hits me. Stomach pain. Hurting. Must. Find. Bathroom. NOW. The problem is I'm two miles away from the car and then three miles away from home. And I had picked Joe up, so I'd need to drop him off. Two miles, plus dropping him off, plus getting home. That's at least a half an hour.
I sweat even more profusely than I have been. What shall I do? What can I do?
I've got to go really bad. I tighten my cheeks and run on. Its getting worse. Then I hear my named being yelled. "Keith! Keith!" Someone is waving at me. This is awkward. By now I'm practically holding onto my rear end and praying that I don't have an accident on the side of the trail.
She is waving. Through my pain and humiliation, I see who it is: a friend from church. To save her embarrassment in case she reads this, I'll just call her Gail. She waves, I remove one hand from my rearend and quickly wave. Thankfully she is far enough away to not hear the rumblings of the stomach.
The volcanic stew is about to erupt. I must get home. Fear surrounds me on every side. I tell Joe what is going on. He laughs but quickly speeds up to get away from the impending accident.
"I think there is a porta-potty at the college up ahead. Maybe it won't be locked," he says. Wouldn't that be something - I make it there, only to discover it is locked? My mind races with questions: Can I make it there? Would it be better to run and get there quicker, or walk but get there slower? What if I don't make it? What if the bathroom is locked? Could I just ditch Joe, and hurry home?
Now we are on the street connecting the two trails. Houses all around. I'm desperate. I recall leading some youth on a missions trip to Mexico a few years ago. One of the teenagers had to use the bathroom very badly. We were going door-to-door in a very, very poor city that consisted of cardboard or scrapwood houses and a few that looked more like normal houses. We found the nicest house we could and knocked on the door. They let the teen go to the restroom. We had knocked just as the owners of the house were starting a birthday party for one of their kids. So this poor Mexican family had invited us all to join them for cake and Coca-cola. They gave up half of their small cake for total strangers. It was humbling, yet awesome. Anyway, as I'm passing these houses by the college, I wonder if I could just knock on their door and tell them I need to use their bathroom NOW. Would they let me in? Would they have toilet paper? Would they hear the minor explosion from my backside? Would they be in the midst of a birthday party? Would they invite us to stay? Would it be Costco cake?
I don't have the nerve to knock, but I was very tempted. I awkwardly run on, butt cheeks tightly clenched, with the volcanic eruption held at bay.
Joe points out the porta-potty across the way. I take a short cut through the college's vegetable garden. Smashing carrot tops, kicking lettuce and cabbage heads, and squashing onions, I press on knowing that if I don't get there quickly, their garden is going to be very "organic."
The door was not locked. I made it.
I ended up running about a mile less than I intended to. I've heard many times of people having "issues" during a race. Today I experienced what they've dealt with. After getting home, it dawns on me that two of my kids have the stomach flu. Apparently, that was the "something is not right." Next time I'm coming down with the stomach flu, I think I'll stay home. Or run in close proximity to a porta potty.
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