Turd On The Run

Sorry. But there is no delicate way to broach a subject every distance runner has hurdled at one time or another, and that is the efficient, discreet disposal of certain bodily wastes.

Nature sometimes calls at inconvenient moments, particularly on a nine-mile run to the beach and back before the sun is up, before any stores are open. Your stomach cramps, your intestines writhe, and.... you gotta drop a deuce. So what is a runner to do when that dreaded call comes?

Well, the answer is simple, unfortunately. You must do that doo doo that you do so well, and make due best as you can under the circumstances.

Relief is no simple task. You've got to find a secluded spot where no one is going to find you au naturel, shorts around the ankles, in an undignified squat. Running into the woods with nothing but a Harvest Moon to guide your way is no fun. Brambles, thickets and god knows if you're squatting in Poison Ivy.

If you're lucky, you can find a secluded spot under the beach boardwalk or a dune crossover.



I don't know how else to put this, but you've got to hope that the end result is firm and compact.

Finally, you pray that it is all dealt with quickly so you can pull up your shorts and run away from the evidence as fast as you can.

And now, Phish doing its own version of the Rolling Stones' "Turd on the Run," off of Exile On Main Street.