Howe Thoughts (the private edition)

Sunday, September 2, 2012

I'm Banking on the Fact That Nobody Follows This Blog Anymore to Read My Potty Humor

I came across a video on about.com titled "5 Embarrassing Running Problems and How to Deal With Them." It chronicled a number of problems--tripping, sweating, getting lost. You know, problems that clearly never concerned any person who actually runs. It did, however, fail to mention the MOST embarrassing running problem. You runners know what I'm talking about.

My typical run is anywhere from three to five miles. This is largely because around four miles my intestines are sufficiently jostled that I had better start looking for a 7-11. I can hold it together for five miles. I need an alternate plan for any longer. Immodium is a good Plan B.

Having children has not helped the issue.

This particular running problem is one that I kept secret from everyone until one Saturday morning when I was on a long training run with my little sister. Marissa and I were running parallel to Foothill Drive when it became apparent that neither one of us had the bowel control to make it to the Capitol Building, our intended destination. We sprinted into Primary Children's Medical Center, located a restroom, and there shared a secret experience that bound us closer than our shared blood. Like teenage boys who make a pact never to share the details of their midnight joyriding, Marissa and I will take those sounds to the grave.

And so it is with great respect I give homage to the Honey Bucket on Wasatch Blvd. Located at least a mile from any trails or construction, I can only imagine it was erected for those of us who love to exercise our bodies, but not our bowels. There it sits, blue and lovely, freshly cleaned, smelling sweet, and located precisely four miles from my house.

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