Today I went for a run. I was going to ride to work but it was a. cold and b. raining. As I don't have any wet weather gear with me I waited 5 minutes for it to stop then gave up; got changed and drove to work.
So with that in mind I got home in time to have a run before it got totally dark. 2 loops around my block - along the river on one side then back again, times two. Nearly 6 miles exact but I'll stretch it a little to get 10k and hopefully a new PB on the girlfriend's Garmin.
Set off, feel ok and keep a reasonable pace for the first 3 miles. I had wanted to do a half marathon later in the year so had a specific pace in mind that I wanted to drill myself in to. Keep it a bit faster or thereabouts. Don't let it drop too much. It gets difficult to check the watch as it's getting darker. Use the intermittent streetlights to to check. Let out a cheeky fart. All is good.
Keep slipping, keep picking it up again. All splits within 2 seconds of my target. Feeling good.
1 mile left to go before home. I know I'm going to do another half mile afterwards but just keep the pace up. Keep farting.
Then half a mile from home I know it's not just a fart. I need to hold this one in. Good job I'm nearly home. I'm getting closer and it's getting more effort to hold it in. The omens aren't good. Nearly there.
Running closer to the house and I REALLY need to go. Just hold it in and keep going. Can't be much further?
Run past the house feeling ill. It's only half a mile to the end of the road. I don't have to go that far before turning round. Every pace is a jolt my colon can barely hold. Every thud a torture.
Then past the house it comes. WHOOOAAAH. That felt awful. My tummy hurts and the pressure was nearly too much. I stop running and double over. Stop the Garmin (the splits are important). I'm going to admit defeat and turn around. Start walking. Restert the Garmin (I might get my 10k)
I'm not going to make it to the loo in time at this rate...
Try a little jog...
The bounding sensation does nothing for me. The thud as my heels impact the tarmac are kneading the worm of foulness from out of me.
Try running. Nooooooo, that nearly escaped.
Run. I'm really running now, I'm not going to make it. I don't want to go here, the neighbours used to like me. I'm nearly there.
Each step feels like it's a miniature defeat. I'm going to have to wash these shorts, I think. Was that turtle's head touching cloth?
Round the back of the house. I know where the keys are, inside the shoe. I know it will be dark and I won't be able to see the lock.
Keys in hand, walk back around the house to try and locate the right key.
Get the key and go straight for the lock. No foreplay, no time for fumbling, this time I have to fund the right spot right away.
The door comes free and I race inside. Feels like I've saved myself from defeat a million times by now, but still the waves keep coming. Hoe can they still be trying? A million foes, trying to escape and ruin the carpet.
It's dark. Where the hell is the toilet? Why can't I find the light switch?
Throw myself down on the porcelain throne, pulling my shorts down with begloved hands. No time for errors.
Then you contemplate hoe you're no longer hunry and the sweat rolls off your forehead an in to your shorts.
Check the Garmin. 9.89 k. Balls.
TLDR: Went running, didn't s**t myself.