Close Call

I could also label this post "The Revenge of Chipotle" -- either way -- this morning's ride to work was dicey.

For those who have been long time readers, you know how I have some prescribed "poop stops" on my ride to work -- a Starbucks, a gas station, and a Publix -- these are places deemed clean enough and located strategically that should I feel the need to crap on the way to work in the morning, I can pull in and feel okay about myself. Long time readers also know that one of my greatest fears is to crap my pants, and with good reason.

So, as you know from the post below, I decided to skip an evening run last night and opted for Chipotle instead. I assume it's the combo of Mexican spices and black beans that really get the system moving, but I also suspect Chipotle employees of injecting laxatives into my burrito, because I swear that after I eat that food, my pooper is like a slip 'n slide for the next two days.

This morning, after I had my first cup of coffee, and before showering, I was able to drop a deuce -- ideal timing -- and I figured I had the "Chipotle" dump for the day.

I was wrong.

On the way to school, my guts started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. But I'm the sort who, optimally, would like to try and hold it until I can safely get to work, so I passed up my first two options: Starbucks and the gas station. Now, the last option, the Publix, is a bit farther apart than the other two and it is, unfortunately, after the busiest light on my route. So, of course, after I have passed my first two options, the situation clearly becomes more dire and in order to focus, I have to shut off NPR and blast the AC (because I get real hot when I'm holding in an explosive poo).

At the dreaded light, I hit the red -- duh, because Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humor and thinks the game of will-Jess-crap-herself? is hilarious. While waiting and praying for the light to turn green, I seriously thought that I was gonna have another terrible situation on my hands, but while thoughts of calling in sick to work (because I'd shit myself) were swirling through my brain, the light miraculously turned green, I sped into the Publix parking lot (nearly running a woman down who didn't have the sense to get the fuck outta my way!), and then sprinted into the bathroom.

All I can tell you is that it was sting-y, and the relief was like heaven.

Clearly, this was the running-gods' way of making me pay for choosing that cursed burrito over my run last night. Sorry, running-gods. I swear this morning's situation was punishment enough, and I promise to be penitent this evening and get my scheduled run in!