Grete Waitz and Me

Warning: This is not for the squeamish.

Anyone who watched as the cameras filmed a world record setting runner named Grete Waitz wipe away diarrhea while running in the New York City marathon winces at the memory. This happened years ago, but I'm betting if you saw it, you remember it. How on earth did she keep running? Wouldn't mortification alone make her stop and seek facilities equipped to handle this sort of unseemly predicament? Nope. People on the sidelines handed her toilet paper, and she just kept going. She was hellbent on finishing. She may even have won that year. Good for her.

I'm not made of the same stuff. I reached a new low today. I was slated to run 10 miles, my longest run to date. My plan was to run two five-mile loops, which would take me past the boathouse and its public bathroom. One has to think about these things. I had an unsettled stomach, but the boathouse was close to our starting point and I figured I could make it back to 72nd Street if need be. I came very close the first time around. I was rounding the pond when the need struck hard. I was plotting a bathroom stop by Bethesda Terrace because the boathouse was too far. This was a gamble because I wasn't sure if those bathrooms were open yet for "the season." The water fountains haven't been turned on yet and the bathroom seem to be on the same absurd schedule. Apparently, people are only thirsty and need bathrooms sometime in late April. I got lucky. There was a sign saying it wasn't open, but I heard all of the toilets flushing simultaneously. They were cleaning it, so I slipped in while the maintenance guy's back was turned. Got there just in the nick of time.

I was tempted to stop running after that, but I thought I had taken care of business and wanted to finish my long run. I got around the lower loop one and half times when disaster struck. I went from thinking it would be very helpful to find a bathroom to panic over the fact that the trees were still bare and there was nowhere to deal with the situation in an even halfway respectable fashion. I was at least a half a mile from the boathouse and the Bethesda Terrace bathrooms and I wasn't even sure they would still be open. I had no time in any case.

I'll set the scene for you: It's a gorgeous, sunny spring morning. The park is teeming with tourists taking pictures of statutes New Yorkers don't notice. The lower loop is full of runners and bikers. The forsythia is in bloom, crocuses have appeared and there's a hint of green on the trees. There are a few shrubs, but nothing dense enough for reasonable camouflage. So what's a gal in desperate need to do? I saw a big rock formation, the kind that people stretch out on and sun themselves like lizards, and found a crevice where I could sit facing the promenade, not the road. Oh, the humanity! I have never been so humiliated in my entire life. This topped the day in fifth grade when my brown suede wraparound skirt fell off while I was playing kickball. Fortune smiled on me in the form of water. I still had about a half a bottle left and I did what I could to douse and then ring out my tights. I had no idea what things looked like. I could only imagine. Now I had to go back to where the team was assembling and get my bag. I planned to grab it and get the hell out of there running faster than I ever had. But when I got there, I couldn't find mine quickly. I was spotted by some people who asked me about my run. "Well, you know, it was a little rough."

I scraped my hand when I clambered up the rocks and was bleeding a wee bit. My mentor saw that and asked me what happened. "Don't ask." I hadn't planned to say anything, but when she asked, I suddenly felt like sharing the awful tale--without too much detail, of course. I was pretty shook up. She assured me that it had happened to her, too. Another gal said she had some similar ugliness on race day, starting at mile 11. It happens. I couldn't imagine them out in the open facing this crisis. As unsavory as Port-a-Johns can be, it's luxurious by comparison. I got a little emotional, so intense was my humiliation. Then I realized this was no time to stand around chatting. I stunk and needed to leave quickly.

I tried to avoid a fellow teammate on the 6 train platform, but he said hello and we entered the crowded car together, followed by another TNT person. I can only imagine what they thought. How many times have I been on the subway with someone with less than impeccable personal hygiene? Plenty.

So what to make of all of this? Clearly, I have not yet figured out what I can eat for dinner. I didn't have these problems when I trained for the triathlons or bike rides. Is this my system rebelling or I am sabotaging myself somehow?

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to share this sorry tale here in this quasi-public forum. Maybe I like the idea that I have something in common with the Grete Waitz's of the running world. We're both human.

Today: 6 miles
Miles to date: 108.6