I Shit Myself
First of all, thanks to everyone who has donated to my 100km to Brighton fundraiser. I will be sending out thank you emails to you all tomorrow morning. I still have about 8-10 books left but I’m not sure any of you will want them now after reading this truly harrowing tale.
I’ve joked about it in the past. It happened on Tuesday night.
I shit myself running. It wasn’t on purpose. It wasn’t a cry for help. It just happened and it was arguably my worst ever moment as a runner.
In the past I’ve had lots of near misses where the shit just stays at the door of my hole like a fat old Mongrel waiting on it’s master to come home. I’ll experience some gurgling in my stomach and it will disappear back up inside of me for a bit like a Whac-A-Mole.
The pressure eases and I can breathe again. This wasn’t the case here.
With only 1km left to my house I knew I was gonna have to come in for an emergency landing. I tried to keep my breathing slow and my pacing regular. I kept my head to the ground and suppressed the rising panic to the best of my ability.
I got to within 100m of my house and it happened. I was praying for a fart but out came a shart. I had no control of it. It felt like hot lava. Worst of all one of the guys who works in the Turkish Grocer shop seen it and he shouted what I can only assume was “Urgh, you’ve fucking shit yourself mate!” in his Mother tongue.
It’s only then that I thought that running commando isn’t always the best option. My age old fear of suddenly having brown legs was a reality. Pissing out of your ass is a surefire indicator that your lifestyle is dysfunctional, but when you’re doing it outdoors on a chilly May night, nothing can ever warm up your soul.
I ran as fast as I could into the house and luckily no one spotted me. If the Landlord had witnessed that sight I would have left overnight and opted to live underneath the M25 at Waltham Abbey for the rest of my days.
The initial cleanup operation was humiliating. I had to put my shorts, socks and in a garbage bag. To make matters worse the stench was so horrific that I began gagging and retching into it. I was so close to vomiting into the shitty old bag that I started to actually laugh out loud at what was happening.
Is this what your life has become Son?
I sealed up the fantasy bag and dumped it in a public bin and was close to donating £10 to Help For Heroes in honour of what Haringey Council were gonna have to cope with next morning.
I then had a cold shower. A shameful fucking shower. A sad and humiliating one. I spent the rest of the evening making sure everything was cleaned up and I don’t think I have any skin left at all.
Soul not s’hole
Like a man I went up to the Turkish Grocer immediately afterwards and bought a Bombay Bad Boy Pot Noodle as if nothing had happened.
Nothing HAD happened. Sure, I’d shit myself but I didn’t do it on purpose. I’ve ran close to 10,000 miles over the past 6 years and this is the only time I’ve even came close to buttering my cheeks properly.
From now on I’m not leaving the house for a run until I’m certain that a rectal exorcism is all but impossible.