Folly or Feasible?

Apparently, failure is an option and W6D2 be its name.

As with most of my challenging runs, this was the result of poor decision making . . . primarily a refusal to get out of bed this morning. Though I made a point to make up for it — fitting the run in between two work activities — clearly I should have just waited until tomorrow.

(Admittedly I still operate largely from fear — fear that if I deviate from the plan I won’t deviate back. Nevermind that two days off happens every week; I was more afraid of not getting up again tomorrow than I was of a sub-optimal, hot-and-humid 5 pm run.)

Knowing that I’d be doing a sun run, I made sure to drink lots of water throughout the day. I don’t carry water with me and don’t normally need it, but I was thirsty by about halfway through. And every time I’d think about how thirsty I was, my bladder made it clear that drinking more was not going to be in my best interest.

Obviously, I’d drunk a little too much water. A lot too much water. And it wanted out. Now.

It’s hard to run while crossing your legs.

Podcast be damned, I slowed to walk, a dilemma unto itself: running was a riskier proposition but walking meant it was that much longer before I got back to the safe haven of my guest bathroom. I opted for the conservative approach and tried to distract myself while keeping one eye out for a port-a-potty. All the construction in my neighborhood but danged if there was any on this street when I needed it.

The closer I got to home, the more I needed to go. I could see the cross street that was my goal, but with each step forward it seemed to recede further. I was seriously starting to wonder if I’d make it home in time. It wasn’t looking good.

It might have been okay had the coughing fit not started. I came to a dead stop, contemplated whether or not I could grab my crotch like a three-year-old and still face my neighbors at the barbecue next week. Opted to stick with the leg squeezing, awkward walk be damned. Lots of kids in the neighborhood, and I’d rather not have to register as a sex offender for lewd public behavior unless I was truly desperate.

Finally (finally) I could see my house. Only a few more yards.

Front door or back? Did I leave the front door unlocked?
Worth a shot, it’s closest to the bathroom.
Yeah, but if I didn’t then I have to backtrack off the porch and go around. Safer to just go straight for the backdoor.
And if that’s locked? It’s all the way across the house from the bathroom.
Okay, front door it is. Live dangerously.

I was now truly desperate. Squeezing is not match for an angry bladder, and I was quickly reaching the point of no return.  I stood on the porch, banging on the locked (of course) front door with one hand, the other shoved between my thighs.

Sweat or a trickle? I don’t want to know.