Strange question, but I need to know

I do not leave the house on an AM run without either having taken a morning poop or a supply of toilet paper in my pocket.

Now, I know I may be setting myself up for the typical BT assassination thread, but there have been times that the TP in my pocket has allowed me to continue on a nice run.  Just to clarify, I'm not dumping in people's yards, I do happen to live close enough to the edge of town so that I can take a route that involved some "ditch dumping" as I like to call it.

Primarily, though, I try to get up, move around a bit so that I can "Drop the Kids off at the Pool" before I go for a run.

I'm woman enough to admit to the same---living in the desert has its benefits on those early morning runs.

I used to live where I could run by a public restroom 1.5 miles into my run. It was AWESOME. 

Now, I'll find a gas station or fast food joint to duck into if I'm in town. Rarely have I had to find a big enough cactus to hide behind.

I just spit my coffee out.  LMFAO!!!

This does happen from time to time- however I have the joy of living in a rural area where I can duck into the desert brush almost anywhere.  I ALWAYS run with toilet paper.  I've had to stop 0.1mi from my door once, because I couldn't make it home.  (it's ok, still rural desert)

the only issue I have is that my dog sits by the side of the road and waits for me.  One time, as I was squatting in the brush, a car pulled up wondering why there was a dog sitting alone along the side of the road.  I waived from the brush and said "he's with me".  

I usually get a 1-2 mi warning.  So, hopefully you can adjust your route options to allow for this.

On more than one occasion- a construction site porta potty has come up at just the right moment.

FWIW- a famous, top, female ironman pro competitor couldn't make it to the finish line a few years ago, and squatted right there in the finish chute in front of a million spectators.  there are probably images on the web... I don't recommend searching for them.

I guess this is the place to tell this, and much as it pains me to recall. 

In the days between my last two bouts with triathlon, I duck hunted from Canada to Mexico, and all states within the Mississippi flyway.  It was something I always wanted to do and I was nearing the end of a period of time when I trained retreivers and had a really good dog to take along on my journeys. 

LIke many have posted here, it's common for me to take care of my daily constitutional about 20 minutes after I've awoke for the day.  I put some coffee on, take care of business, and I'm on my way, no matter where I am or what's going on.

And so it was I found myself standing next to a 2000 acre marsh wondering why this particular morning had gone differently. I thought maybe I ate something the night before that didn't need to be expelled.  Maybe the motel coffee from the lilttle mom and pop dive we stayed in wasn't really coffee.  It didn't matter. I didn't have to go and my buddies were waiting for me to make up my mind on making the 1/2 mile wade-in to our hunting spot with them or standing on the bank waiting for nature to call.  I guessed I didn't have to go, so into the water we went.

This particular day we were hunting a waist deep marsh that is flooded artificially.  It had some row crops, a few short willows, and a few dead trees laying over, here and there, that had not been cleared when the re-development and wetalnds reclamation project had taken place.  I wore chest waders, and the water came to just above my crotch.  We waded out for about 30 minutes, careful with each step, like you have to be when you can't see your feet or what is under the water.  Once at the spot where we intended to hunt, we threw some decoys out, and leaned up against some small willow scrub bushes.  We had about 45 minutes until the sun would start to rise, so we opened our thermoses and enjoyed a cup of coffee.  It was shortly after when I felt the first rumblings.

I can say now, looking back, I wasted no time heading for dry land.  I have often thought that maybe I didn't heed the initial warning signs, that somehow the outcome of this story would have been different if I had gotten a quicker start.  I don't think so.

There is no good way to relieve yourself when water will come to the crack of your arse if you can even possibly get your waders down that far.  Nevermind the freezing water that will pour into your waders and end your day.  I brifefly considered climbing into one of the willow scrubs to gtet some clearance, but I was easily 220 lbs. then, with another 30 or so lbs. of clothing so there was no way the one inch limbs would hold me.  I would have to wade back to dry land. 

I guess I had made it about 150 yards when the first wave of doubt hit me.  I REALLY have to go and there is no way I can make it.  I had already been reduced to very small shuffling steps and had to stop every 20 yards or so to squeeze........and pray.  I was sweating, and beginning to resign myself to the fact that this would end poorly, when I remembered a large tree that I had seen in the water about 50 feet offr of the path we walked.  I thought I could make it there and at least have a chance to get out of the water.  I shuffled, stopped, squeezed, prayed, and sweated for another 10 minutes or so when I finally spied the tree.

I don't think I was more than 50 feet away from salvation when it ended.  I don't know enough about the digestive system to be able to write about the forces that come into play when you can finally no longer hold it, but I lived it.  Really, it was a relief when it was over.  I stood there and crapped my pants.  I even kind of sat back a bit and let the water prop me up some.  What else can you do?  If I would have had a cigar I'd have lit it and enjoyed the moment even more.  It felt good.

When I finished I headed for the tree.  I climbed up onto it at a point where there were some branches to hold on to, and began to shed my clothing.  I had decided I would strip down naked, use a t-shirt and the available water to clean myself up, and head back to the hunt.  It was a mess, but there I stood, naked in the middle of that marsh cleaning myself off.  My waders, pants, and other items I hung in the tree branches near me.  I was bent over rinsing out my t-shirt when I heard the voices.

I'm not going to try to describe the feelings that wash over you, so to speak, as you stand naked in a marsh in the middle of January and realize people are coming toward you.  But, it should suffice to say they aren't even close to what you feel when you see the first ray of a hand held spotlilght track toward you. I have nowhere to go.  I'm not done cleaning myself up.  I stand motionless to try to hear what the voices are saying but that ends when one fo them says, "that tree has got to be right around here".  Here comes the light again......great.  Now I can hear them clearly, and for the second time in the last 15 minutes I just resign my self to my fate.  I stand up and wait for the light.  It doesn't dissapoint me, and really, neither did the reactions of the hunters trying to find my tree.

GODDDDAM"!!!" 

The first guy yelled that. 

"HOLY CHIT!!!"...another one.

Thanks.

The funny thing was that they kept the light on me.  I guess shock does that. It causes you to freeze. 

"What are you doing?", a voice called.  "I chit in my pants", I answered.  "Do you need any help?", the other voice said.  I started laughing, "whatcha got in mind?"  Silence.

I said I'd be done in a minute but really didn't need the light.  They laughed and turned it off.  I todl them I wasn't hunting by the tree and they were welcome to it.  They declined the offer.  And then they just waded off. 

I put myself back together and went back to my buddies.  They wanted to know what the yelling was about.  I told the story and we were so broke up laughing that we missed most of the good first light duck flight.  Life is good. 

This, but at least an hour. I also know the best way to make me have to poop is put on bibs or a tri suit. Never fails.

Bookmarked.