This thread deserves a resurrection.

Thank you. I haven't laughed so hard in a while.

There have been two days that I must not have timed my coffee appropriately. I made it to the bathroom in time but it was so painful (and my ass was convulsing) that I was literally considering letting it go on the side of the greeway I was running on. No PRs that day.

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https://connect.garmin.com/modern/profile/domingjm

Definite dark memory for me this....way back early in my running only days. I had just started run training properly and had lined up my first real target: sub 20mins 5k.

The big day arrived and I was nervous/excited. Race began and I was going well, up on pace and feeling good by halfway and really it could not have been going better. Sometime soon after halfway I was aware of some....rumbling....in my stomach but it was a PB/milestone attempt so ignored it. The rumbling started to get more serious, and a stealth fart did not solve the problem. I was getting cramps and starting to realise that any further attempts to stealth fart would get a full follow through so were off limits.

However I was deep into the last mile and still up on pace and I was NOT going to let this slip away....my running had deteriorated though as I was sort of running with clenched buttocks and pace was dropping. I still had plenty of time to play with so assumed I could manage the situation to the finish, but I was definitely looking forward to the post race loo more than the finish itself....

About 400m to go, and, well, the damn broke. Fortunately I had compression shorts on which did a very good 'containment' job but I could feel them filling up....utterly dreadful feeling running (yes I was still going for the PB!) while shitting yourself - but on the positive there was now no need to contain so my stride was lengthening again. Crowds were now lining the chute as I wafted past.

Despite it being my fastest every 5k by about 40 seconds I absolutely did not stop at the finish line, but kept running past - ignored the medal being offered - and went straight into the toilets. Clean up took ages, the shorts had to be sacrificed and I had to move cubicles as the first ran out of toilet paper.

Please note I had, however, remembered to stop my Garmin, and also glanced up at the time as I crossed - 19:38. Job done, but at a cost!

I visited Santa Barbara on vacation last year and my last morning (6:30am) run was memorable for there being plenty of public toilets, with none opening before 7:00am. Problem is your sphincter kind of relaxes on approach to forthcoming relief, so after about 4 episodes like this, the 5th toilet came too late. I 'mopped up' and slunk back into the hotel room and into the shower before the family was even awake.

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My race site: https://racesandplaces.wixsite.com/racesandplaces

As a bush pilot it wasn't uncommon, due to crappy camp food, for people to suddenly have their guts start gurgling and have to land at a random strip (with a load of tourists onboard) and dart into the bush for relief, before coming back and continuing the flight, to the puzzlement of the paxs.

Whilst awaiting a delayed pickup, I had to dive into the bush by the side of the Zambezi, cut strips off my quick dry towel (fortunately I always had my go bag with survival kit onboard) and take a dump. The whole time I was expecting hippo to crash through the brush and end things - but that was the lesser of two evils when faced with shitting my pants, loading a plane full of paxs and then flying them forty minutes in the hot African sun in the aroma of pant shit.

Sometimes, when you've got to go, you've got to go.

Nice turn of phrase.

Congrats on the PB!

This thread is pure gold. I am firm believer that until this has happened to you you're not really in the club.

I live in a pretty rural area and I am an early morning runner so have frequently voluntarily availed myself of nature's toilet by digging a little hole and covering up. Recently, I started out a long run and within two miles I was receiving signals that all was not well. All of a sudden, the urge was upon me and I was unlucky to be on the only bit of the road that hemmed in by a five foot stone wall and thick woodland. I could either go on the road, or in my shorts - then the decision was made for me. I managed to clean up enough in the wood to finish the 16 mile run. When I arrived home I asked my wife to stay in the living room and leave me alone for 30 minutes to sort myself out. Thankfully I was able to laugh about it before the run had finished.

I've done two halfs and had issues in both... worst was vomiting and crapping my pants through the run. Came off the bike in position to win the race and it all went downhill at about mile three with some serious GI issues... beautiful beach front run and I'm hurling into a trash can. It just kept getting worse from that point on with stomach cramps. It was one of those its coming out of both ends off an on for the next 10 miles with a lot of walking mixed in.

At one point some spectator is telling me I don't have to finish, but I was bound and determined to finish one way or another... only time I've gone to the med tent at the finish line. I walked the mile or so back to our condo... showered, washed my kit out... went back to the race to pack up transition and heard my name called for winning my AG. What a day!

I went for a 8 mile run in my neighborhood near by one night. Well near the end of the run, I started feeling the grumbling down below but I thought I could hold it til I got my run completed. I was wrong. I was about a half mile from my house and decided to walk it in but I didn't have the spinchter strength to contain this powerful impending sh*tstorm. I tried physically plugging my assh*le with my finger so I wouldn't make a mess but I could feel myself losing this battle. I kept telling myself that I'm not a savage, I can't just sh*t in someones yard, this is a nice neighborhood! Well it was either my shorts or the neighbors tree that was going to take the brunt of my dietary sins. Not alot of places to take cover so I just ran in between two houses, dropped my pants and let the shit fly. I felt relief and shame at the same time knowing what I had just done and also realizing that I had nothing to wipe with. My goal was to get out of there asap and thats what I did. I try and unload before a run if I can but it doesn't always work out.

I’ve shat in bizarre places on runs ranging from 4 to 20 miles hundreds of times. (I always carry TP or a couple of paper towels on a run.) Maybe half of them were pre-dawn, so no problem at all. Trickier when it’s light out in an urban area.

But the one that stays with me doesn’t involve running. San Antonio, 1986 or 1987. 2:00 in the afternoon maybe. Driving in a very upscale neighborhood (can't recall why) I had to go and it was a 10 on the urgency scale. I threw the transmission on that old Buick into Park, jumped out and took an enormous dump on the manicured front lawn of a $500,000 or $1M mansion, right by the mailbox. No time for wiping. I was back in my car so fast that even if the guy had been looking out his picture window, I don’t think he’d have been able to get outside before I hauled ass.

That is hilarious!! And ballsy!

I’ve shit myself on several occasions. I’ve never had the idea of plugging my ass with my finger.

I actually have 2 stories on this topic I was a little embarrassed to share the second one but my wife thought it might be helpful for me to share this with the triathlon community so here goes...


I was training for a half Ironman in Muncie, Indiana and went out for a swim in a lake at a park near my house. I hadn't been feeling great but wanted to get in a quick hour as I hadn't been able to swim in about a week.


The lake is long and wide and I had it to myself that morning. My swim started off uneventful, although I still had that gnawing in my gut.


I got 20 minutes in, and I'd gotten about as far from shore in any direction as I could... and then it happened.


There was really no warning. The uncomfortable feeling in my gut turned into something I can only describe as an explosion and my intestines emptied into my wetsuit.


(Afterwards, it occured to me that my wetsuit should have helped me, at least a little bit, in holding back what was erupting from my butthole but the fact that the suit was so tight almost seemed to help to push my shame out more forcefully)


And there was nothing I could do.


I was in 15 feet of water and locked in my wetsuit as it continued to pour out of me.


Part of me was in a panic but part of me - and I'm a little ashamed of this - but part of me actually enjoyed and appreciated the warmth that was starting to spread over me. It was primal.


Now, the lake is in a park and a few people had pulled into the parking lot since I had started my swim. There was even another swimmer stretching on shore. I knew I had to come up with a plan on how to get back to my car and strip out of my wetsuit without anyone seeing me, as I could feel that my feces had started leaking out around my feet.


I started swimming to the most remote part of the lake, but still on the same side as the parking lot. My plan was to strip out of my wetsuit, rinse and walk back to my car along shore.


Now I don't wear anything under my wetsuit when I train, so the shit that was trapped in my wetsuit was starting to feel gritty and chafe me. Especially my ballsack and ass crack.


But I swam on.


I reached shore and climbed out, out of sight of what I thought was everyone. I started to strip, and that's when I smelled it. And to make matters even worse, as I pulled off the rubber suit I got some in my mouth.



And then I vomited. And I just kept puking.. the smell... the taste... the feel of my whole body covered in my foul waste was too much. I was on my knees, naked, covered in my own wet diarrhea, vomiting.


Then I looked up.


An older couple, probably in their late 70s, had apparently walked along the shore and stopped about 30 feet from me, both staring at me, mouths agape. She started to reach for what I can only assume was pepper spray but her husband grabbed her hand and pulled her back the way they had come.


I quickly jumped back in the lake, rinsed, pulled my wetsuit on to my waist and ran through the woods that would get me back to the parking lot. The going was slow because I didn't have shoes on and by the time I got near the parking lot, I stood along the treeline and watched as the elderly couple corralled a park ranger and animatedly pointed back down the way they had come.


The ranger got on his radio and started down the shore and as soon as he disappeared behind the trees I ran through the parking lot, ducking behind cars until I reached the safety of my Kia.


I cracked the door, slid in, started the ignition and sped away to my house as fast as I could.


When I finally got home I stripped off my wetsuit, put it in a bucket outside and went in to check my balls.



Has this ever happened to anyone else?


Ohhhhh that’s a good one. Thanks for making me relive my shame everyone!

I laughed so hard at this that I woke the wife up who was asleep on the couch.

I've done it too.

One time I was in southern Greece and had too much fresh fish and home made "wine" for dinner. Ran the next morning and it was a good thing that I was close to an unmanned banana field. Banana leaves are pretty good for wiping.

A few other times I was not that lucky and came back to the car without socks.

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Next races on the schedule: none at the moment

You know I never read this thread when it first stated, but stories like these make me look forward to seeing this thread pop up to the top of the list.

Plugging your ass with your finger...That is pure gold! I laughed so hard I figured I could skip my core workout tonight. My abs are killing me.

Hilarious story. I have to ask though: Do you change into your wetsuit at the house (with nothing under it), then drive in your car to the lake? How do you normally get back without getting your car wet and dirty? Towel off the wetsuit? Sounds uncomfortable.

For some reason it reminds of Seinfeld when Kramer is telling the story about how he got mud on the pants he was on the way to return because he was wearing them on the way to the store. Jerry questions how how was going to get home with no pants.

I had a funny one when taking my 2 year old daughter for a walk once. We were about half way around the loop in our village, just next to some houses with nice lawns in front. She then said she needed a wee and so we did the standard parent wee hold where you drop their pants, lean forward a bit and hold them out to have a quick wee and give them a shake, pull them up and off you go. A standard move that usually takes 30 seconds and leaves no trace. This time though after about 5 seconds of watering sounds she suddenly tenses slightly and i hear this tiny "Gnnnnnnnnaahhhhh" sound. I look down and she's produced a spectacular 5 inch long perfectly formed turd, right on someone's front lawn.. We got out of there sharpish with me sniggering all the way home wondering what dog owner would get the blame for that, probably a Great Dane owner.

This wasn’t a training shit as I was supposed to be in “recovery” mode.

I asked my buddy for advice on where to travel with my new lady friend – somewhere that was a bit off the grid, tropical, with access to swimming and hiking. He suggested a place called Mato Palo in Costa Rica, which is nestled on the Osa Peninsula.

After a long day of traveling we arrived at our “jungle bungalow” where we were greeted very warmly by staff. We were told that there was some sort of welcome picnic or dinner that we were welcome to attend. I was starving.

There was an impressive spread all under surveillance by various jungle creatures like Howler monkeys, Scarlet Macaws, Iguanas, and what not. I dove in hard. My girlfriend at the time had some papaya, mango, a little salad, some coconut water, etc. She was all into yoga and raw foods and Namaste. I ate everything in sight, including some chicken and something only a Costa Rican would serve to make someone from the States feel a little more comfortable if homesick – potato salad. It was all delicious and by the end of this gluttonous foray into a blended smorgasbord of fresh fruit and Mayonnaise-based salads, I felt simply spectacular.

We took an amazing walk, took a dip in the beautiful ocean, sat by a fire listening to the nocturnal bugs and what not serenade us until we were ready to retire to our romantic bungalow. I was in heaven.

Fast forward a couple hours. After drifting off to sleep I abruptly awake in the middle of the night with some stomach rumbling. I spring up and it is pitch black and loud with jungle life. I'm sweating and tachycardic. My stomach doesn’t feel right at all. My beautiful girlfriend is next to me sound asleep probably dreaming of all the papaya and mango she is going to eat for breakfast. The rumbling intensifies and I cannot tell if I have to shit, vomit, or both. My fear is palpable and for many reasons. I pray to all Gods who will listen to just let this entire thing pass. I am pretty sure that my prayers will fall on deaf ears.

I start the inner conversation. You know, the one where your body and your amygdala try to converse logically about how long you can hold it in, whether you can make it to the bathroom, etc. I start to sweat more. A lot. I do the mental math and know that I could probably make it to the shared bathroom that is located down the path (in the jungle) about 50 yards or so. But that confidence is deflated as I remember hearing from the staff that they could not promise safety while walking around at night. Things like poisonous snakes (of which Costa Rica at the time has/had lots of), black panthers, scorpions, dart frogs, and whatever the hell else there is in this Joseph Conrad Heart of Darkness god forsaken place. I'm from the city. My sphincter is screaming at me “Run your punk ass to the toilet or I’ll fucking ruin you and your reputation,” while my brain is yelling “but you’ll probably get bitten by a coral snake or mauled by a black panther, which would make your mother so sad and you would suffer while you die in the darkness of the jungle.” I was in a dilemma.

The minutes felt like hours. I continued to have waves of nausea and pangs of gas pains. Any fart that happened was accompanied by shear panic that I would shit on my girlfriend. Eventually, the darkness every-so-slightly faded. I could now look out of our open aired bungalow, through the mosquito netting, and see about halfway down the path that would lead me to liberation of this foulness. I began to try to convince myself that it was time and after a disgusting burp, I finally mustered up enough confidence to make a run for it. I silently crept out of the bungalow - clenching my ass cheeks so hard that I would have made a diamond out of coal.

As soon as I started down the path things went from horrible to “oh-my-god-what-did-i-do-to-deserve-this?” I was going to vomit and I would not be able to make it to the bathroom. With bungalows all along the path, I didn’t want to vomit on the path or wake someone so I tried to quicken my pace, which made my rectum spasm and my sphincter lament in despair.

When a person dies there are 5 stages of death. I think shitting yourself results in a similar staging system. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I sped through denial during what felt like several hours ago. I loathed myself for eating that fucking potato salad and then bargained with whatever spiritual force that occupies Mato Palo to please just let me make it to the bathroom. But when that first slippage of stool escaped my butt I knew that I wasn't going to make it. I wallowed in depression as I went incontinent all over tropical paradise. I began to run at this point. As best as I could. Shitting everywhere. All over the footpath. Ruining nature and everyone’s tropical oasis.

I stopped for a split second to remind myself which direction the bathroom was and that is when I smelled it, when I saw what I just did to myself. My nausea abruptly intensified to an all-out vomit. The act of vomiting engaged by abdominal muscles in ways that led to my bowels being squeezed and availing themselves of their exit. This all happened just a mere 10 yards from a toilet. It was so forceful that my simultaneous poop-vomit fiasco propelled me almost into the bushes.Thoroughly disgusted and depressed with myself, I walked the rest of the way to the bathroom where I spent the next hour or so releasing my ill humors down the drain.

During that time, I contemplated whether I could manage to act like this never happened. I first had to accept that I just did that. I convinced myself that I would cut through the jungle toward the beach and jump in the ocean to fully clean myself off. I couldn’t let my girlfriend know just how pathetic of a person I really was. I started to hear other humans up and about. A man came in and took a piss then left. I waited until the voices faded and then I left my stall. I peeked my head out and didn’t see anyone and walked as fast as I could toward the ocean – covered in my disappointment.

When I got to the ocean and waded in, dizzy and disgusted, I ultimately managed to convince myself that I was in the clear. I took my shorts off, turned them inside out, washed them like I was on the show “Survivor” and then tried to clean myself as best as possible. Walking back to my bungalow, I imagined returning to my girlfriend sleeping, me freshly wet from an amazing Ocean swim wet, where I’d sit and convince her that I got up early - that this shit show never happened. But when I got near the bungalow, I saw that she was up already. She was on the path that I had ruined and was heading toward the bathroom herself. I then saw her stop in her tracks and turn around quickly to walk back to the bungalow. When she saw me near, I did my best to do the “Hey! You are finally up.The ocean is so beautiful this morning.You have to go in,” but she wasn’t really having it. She said “Someone shit all over this place and it is disgusting. It's literally everywhere. How fucking rude.”

There is something that most people know about me who know me well. I am a terrible liar. Still feeling squeamish and stressed from my self-inflicted trauma, I said “I have to tell you something. Promise not to tell?” I was now a 7-year-old boy, evidently. She looked at me and quickly put the story together. With a look of thorough disappointment and embarrassment she said “Oh my god, it was you." I looked at her with a strong sense of humiliation and said “the potato salad.”

I went back to our bungalow and lay down for a long time while she “went on a walk” and got some breakfast. Things were really never the same between us. Whatever she thought about me when she went to sleep that night was now gone. I was now the guy that took her to a tropical dreamland to then have her spend her first morning with a man who went incontinent all over. While we eventually managed to laugh about it and have a good time for the rest of our trip, I'm sure the grounds keepers surely didn’t. Still to this day, I sometimes wonder if the good people that work there still talk about what this mystery man managed to do when something bad happens there. Something like “yeah, this is ridiculous, but it isn’t as bad as the time that person emptied themselves all over the place and we had to hose it all down.”

Moral of the story. Eat locally. And jungles don't make mayo.

You, sir, are an artist! I am sitting in my office with both hands over my mouth laughing my ass off!

I laughed so hard I almost shit my pants at work!

So, do you now always wear a Speedo or jammer under your wettie??? That always seemed like a good idea to me and i've never thought of driving to an OWS in my wettie. Driving in a wetsuit, that just seems bit off to me, unless you have to due to an emergency.

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"Anyone can be who they want to be IF they have the HUNGER and the DRIVE."

I'll let her tell it

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"What's your claim?" - Ben Gravy
"Your best work is the work you're excited about" - Rick Rubin