In a word, DESPERATION. Intending to take a nice 4.5 mile recovery run, I began my route in good spirits and in good bowel-constitution. The problems began around mile 4. A brief footnote: a few hours before my run, I stopped by Adam and Jasmine's house for some homemade guacamole—a possible mistake, I'll admit. Anyways, right on Cliff Drive, one of the busiest cross streets in SB, I tanked, my stomach bellowed, and the game was on. Either crap my pants or crap in a bush. I chose the latter, but the bush hardly hid my bent form, cowering in mortification.
Faucet poo galore...
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I had this situation on a three-miler a few months ago. I somehow held it in and shuffled (literally) all the way home. I've never sweat more in my life.
Longest run ever.
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