Take heed, young grasshoppers:
Shit washes off.
How do I know this?
First things first: we're all runners here. We have no or very little shame. We discuss odd and embarrassing things about our bodies all the time. Now, on with it.
Shit happens, as they say. Shit happened to me for only the second time this morning. Yes, I have GI issues almost every time I run, but 99% of the time I'm able to control the beast and avoid a mishap. Not so today. I was cruising through mile 4 of my 5-mile run when I felt the dreaded rumble in my guts. I had cleared the pipes before I left as I always do (this is even more important than my shoes, Garmin, or sports bra) and there had been no grumbling from down below so I thought I was golden for the duration of the run.
Well. My body had other plans. I found myself sprinting for home, not an easy feat on sidewalks which were accumulating a slick coating of fresh snow. I almost took a spill right at the foot of my driveway. Despite my best efforts, I was too late. Yes, folks, I crapped my pants. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. Like I said earlier, shit happens. I find it almost miraculous that this has only happened to me twice given my constant battle with my GI tract.
Shit also washes off. It disappears quite nicely when a hot shower and lots of Dial soap is applied. I emerged squeaky clean, spicy fresh, and ready to face the day.
Up until this mishap, my run had been very enjoyable. When I first set out just after 6:00 AM, the first fat, lazy flakes of the morning's snowstorm were just beginning to float downward. The air was so still, they filled the air in a thick cloud which gently buffeted my face. It was like running inside a snow globe. Snowflakes accumulated on my eyebrows and eyelashes until I had to swipe them away. I ran in the street, my footfalls muffled by the soft layer of snow.
I am torn between loathing the cold and unpleasantness of winter training versus its quiet beauty. Luckily I have about 7 more weeks of this to figure it out.