Long Runs

I enjoy running, but not when I have the runs. Such experiences have only one redeeming feature: You get a good story. I, for one, love sharing funny stories. I also love stories which feature me as the main character. So, without any further ado (but some doo-doo), let's begin on a hot, humid summer day in Virginia.

It was the 100 year anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America. Young men, dressed in the latest scouting fashion, flowed from all parts of the United States to celebrate the spirit of that organization. The 2010 National Scout Jamboree was an experience of a lifetime, and I was one of those uniformed youth in attendance.

Located at Fort A.P. Hill, the Jamboree was situated to host a large number of scouts, and there were rumors of more than 50,000 people in attendance. With such a large force gathered together, and with everyone camping, it was no wonder some of us grew ill. Whether it was an illness passed to me, or early signs of lactose intolerance, I discovered a desire within myself I hadn't noticed before. I found on that trip a longing to frequent those hot, smelly port-a-potties.

This overflowing need of mine complicated a few things. First, as scouts celebrating scouting, we had a simple rule we took to the extreme, the buddy system. I was never to be alone, and while I enjoy company, grabbing someone each time I felt the urge was not exactly my natural priority. Thankfully, I do have an amazing friend, Drew Roberts, and he was always willing to drop his tasks to wait outside the line of pots as I took care of my needs.

One cool activity at the Jamboree was Technology Quest. It included a few stations with scientific crafts and lessons. I thought building the solar car was fun. What really interested me, though, was the path of cornstarch and water. I'd been a fan of this mixture since I'd seen an episode of Mythbusters. If you don't want to watch the video, just know that it's a liquid that turns to a solid when there's impact. That means one can run across the top of it.

The line for this opportunity to "walk on water" was pretty long, but I was determined to wait it out. Sadly, nature called me down a different path, and in an instant, my only wish was to be at a bathroom, and soon. I stepped out of line to search for Drew and found him near the front of the line. Ever the loyal friend, Drew stepped out of line and joined me. I still smile when I remember his wistful glance back at the missed opportunity.

We exited the tented activity and began our hunt. Not twenty yards away from the exit was a set of port-a-potties, but as I approached, I noticed a sign on each of their doors, For Emergency Medical Use Only. This was an emergency, sure, but a medical emergency? I could see no medical aspect to my need to use the bathroom. This meant, as an obedient boy, I was going to have to find a different bathroom. I was in luck, though. I saw another set. They were only a few football fields away.

Drew had just caught up to me as I turned around and began the march to my plastic salvation. "I can't use these ones," I said then pointed toward my distant destination. "I'm going to those." My friend looked a little confused, but nodded and said he'd go inform our scoutmaster where we were headed. Not feeling able to wait, I continued the trek without him.

The path I'd selected wasn't crowded, but a fair share of scouts walked alongside me, though none of them seemed as stiff-legged in their gait. I started to become more and more aware I wasn't alone. My bowels didn't get the message, however, because they decided they were sick of waiting.

If you have never felt the runs release a flood of demons down your legs, hidden only by long pants, as you are desperately moving toward a port-a-potty, I will spare you the wet, messy details. Suffice it to say that I felt justified in panicking. As I saw it, I had two choices. I could continue walking in an awkward fashion as signs of my current struggle seeped into view, or I could run. Who would think anything of a running scout? No one.

Fun fact: Did you know that running removes almost all of your control over your bowels? I hadn't known that for the first sixteen years of my life. I have since learned that lesson from my head to the inside of my shoes.

I sprinted the remaining distance to the toilets. Once there, I found almost all of them occupied, but wasted no time searching until I found my new abode for the next twenty minutes. I am impressed that I could feel a sense of relief as I sat in that sweltering fly trap. It didn't last.

You're sixteen, I thought, and you just pooped your pants. This thought was more disappointing than my first experience taking a swig of sour milk. It smelled worse too. (This may sound planned, but Spotify just chose this moment, as I'm writing, to play "Everything Comes Down to Poo")

After doing my best to clean myself, my clothing, and the seat with a mixture of hand sanitizer and toilet paper, I stepped out into "the great outdoors" to find Drew waiting for me. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I cried as I approached my best friend in the world, "I didn't make it."

To his credit, he didn't laugh. Instead, he accompanied me the distance back to the activity where he went to get the scoutmaster as I entered the medical tent. You'd be amazed how many men, even doctors, are proud to console freshly soiled teens by pulling the it's-okay-because-I-did-the-same-thing-two-months-ago card.

I'm never going to live this down, but you know? That's okay. For anyone else struggling to keep it in, it's okay, because I did the same thing once. Or twice. Well, the frequency is not what's important. Just know you're not alone. Also, needing to use the bathroom is a medical emergency.