I Nearly Lost My Life in a Portapotty

Good morning friends! Wait, it's afternoon. Good afternoon.

I realize that I owe you a post--it's been two weeks since my marathon--but life happens, you know? Time flies. Mountains move. Babies are born and grandfathers die.

So! The marathon. All that training paid off--I hit my goal time! And I never have to run another marathon again. Except...I think I could do better. This time, it only took me 36 hours to change my mind and decide to do another.

The day started perfectly. I was feeling great after the taper and several weeks of healthy eating. It was about 45 degrees at the starting line. I started at what felt like an easy pace, which was 8:30. I meant to run 8:55 all the way through but I felt so good that I kept going. Mistake! I'll tell you why later. Wait, you know why, right? You can't bank time. You stick to your plan. Everyone knows this. But my dang legs betrayed me.

5 miles in, my belly started to rebel. This is par for the course--it's not a long run unless I feel like I'm going to poop myself at least three times. I veered off to the portapotty and then things got ugly. It was already full to within a foot of the perch and I was scared for my butt.  What if there was splashing and something got on me? I performed the Outhouse Maneuver (you may be familiar, it's like a squat but your arms carry part of the weight by bracing between the toilet paper holder and the door handle). The portapotty was vibrating. VIBRATING! Like it was about to burst and spew forth! I'd be famous!

"Local Runner, 39, Swept Away in Toilet Tsunami" 

It didn't happen and I survived. That was fine, but there was no toilet paper OF COURSE so I had to sacrifice a glove (gloves are great for outhouse emergencies, wiping snot, etc. $1.50 for two pairs at Target! You're welcome).

You thought this was a running blog, not a pooping blog? I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding.

After miles 10-13, I decided This Isn't Fun Any More and thus began the battle between my body, my mind and my soul. It sucked. I started to slow my pace. At mile 20 I had a surprise pick me up when I saw my smoking hot husband on the sideline cheering for me. Yay! I hadn't expected that. I picked up the pace for about 50 yards and then...my calves cramped. I will spare you the description of each agony-filled mile, but let me tell you that getting stabbed with a kitchen knife hurts less than six miles of calf cramps (stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, every freaking step). I kept going because my watch said I could still hit my goal. There was something wrong with the finish line (it kept getting farther and farther away) so the last 1.2 miles were actually 452 miles long. And I ran them at an average 9:30 pace, WAY over my planned pace. And ran straight through the finish line to the medical tent.

Whatever, who cares, I finished in 3:55:57, and I never want to see a 4 at the front of my time again! YAY!

HUGE thank you to my mom (a friend of runners) and Amy (a friend and runner) who rubbed the cramps out of my calves and poured chocolate milk into my body, gallons at a time.

A massive thank you to the hundreds of volunteers and workers who made it such a great event. 

And a ginormous thank you to my family and friends who are so supportive and lovely to me all the time.

Next up is the Ragnar Del Sol relay in less than three weeks with my CHOLLA CHICKS! Woohoo!