I was over for the Great Scottish Run in Glasgow and was in the middle of a ‘Get Healthy’ stint, intent on setting a new personal best, so I was trying to eat new things and buy new equipment.
I’d recently acquired a Camelbak backpack for running and hadn’t tested it out before the race.
Mistake #1
In my infinite wisdom I filled the bladder of the Camelbak with Lucozade Sport whilst standing in the bath of my hotel room.
I secured the hatch and jiggled the bag around and left it in the lounge for 15 minutes.
I came back it and the Lucozade Sport had started leaking all over the carpet.
Mistake #2
I freaked out. I was already running late for the bus to get me to the start of the race and things were getting frantic, so I refilled it quickly, made doubly sure that the hatch was secured and put the Camelbak on and left the room.
I got into the elevator to go downstairs to check-out and an elderly couple got in with me. I was not feeling sociable, so stood in silence as I was sweating like hell and in something of a frenzy.
I don’t know what exactly spurred my attention but I turned around and saw the old man staring at me. Much concern was on his face.
‘You alright, Pal?’ said he.
‘Yeah’ replied I, feeling a little uncomfortable.
I met the guys gaze once more and he was staring at my feet.
It was then that I noticed that a steady flow of orange was leaking out of the bottom of my running bottoms.
The Camelbak was leaking again.
‘Fucks sake! Not again!’ shouted an angry (and now desperate) jogger.
I was starting to panic, so I ran to reception and asked a member of staff if she could store the Camelbak in the luggage room until I got back from the race.
She was totally fine with it, even though the bag was saturated at this point and was in danger of contaminating everything else in the storage area.
The Realization.
I thought back to the old couple in the elevator.
It suddenly dawned on me that they must have thought that I had pissed myself right there, somewhere between the 2nd and 1st floors of a Premier Inn on the outskirts of Glasgow.
Shouting ‘Not again!’ must have been the clincher. It would certainly explain the look of pity that they gave me.
They must have thought that I was some poor incontinent Northern Irish lackey, hellbent on pissing everywhere he stood, just because he could.
Ever since then I NEVER try any new equipment on race day and I’ve yet to put the bladder back in the Camelbak in case I’m involved in Pissgate Round 2 with a less forgiving crowd.
The race itself
The race was great. I got a personal best (at the time) of 2:12:32.
The only downside was that my bottoms were sticking together from all of the dried orange and I had to carry my ATM card and spare change for the bus home in my hands for 13.1 miles, as I had nothing else to stash them in.
No related running posts.
by Matt the Angry Jogger
Matt lost 70lbs through running and has ran 13 half marathons and 4 full ones. He hates health freaks with a fucking passion and loves cheese and cider.
I feel like a jerk, but I totally laughed. At least the race went well! Maybe you got all the bad mojo out of the way before you hit the starting line.
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