At about mile 10 my stomach started to concern me. I ignored the worrisome discomfort and pushed through my last 3.1 miles. After crossing the finish line I found my friend and we made our way through the crowds to collect our medals and gather all the freebies we could hold. When we finally reached a point where we weren’t caged in by fences any longer I knew I had to quickly find a washroom. Once I saw the rows of blue potty boxes I threw my arm full of freebies and my fuel belt on the grass for my friend to watch and then rushed to the row of port-a-potties. There were no lines, which made me wonder am I the only one who needs an emergency trip to the bathroom after running long and hard?
I thought I was all good at this point, but minutes later I was struck with that uncomfortable cramping that warranted another trip to the john. Now two emergency trips to the bathroom after triumphantly crossing the finish line was not what I had expected. I envisioned hanging out with my friend, eating some snacks, pizza maybe a beer while basking in the glory of our finished race.
I decided that I was ok to walk back to the car, but I soon found out that the more mobile I became the more the painful cramping emerged. I saw some porta-potties in the distance so we quickly walked in their direction. Once we got in close range we noticed that they were in a roped off VIP area. Come on people! Really? Oh. My. God. I needed to use the washroom, like now. So my friend suggested we walk along the path of the race until we reached some bathrooms that were placed there for the runners. I was praising the gods when I finally reached another row of potties along the course. The after emerging from that washroom a city worker in a golf cart asked if I was ok and if I needed assistance. Man did I feel like an idiot at that point. Yes sir, my ass is exploding. Can you help? Instead I told him all was well. Big. Fat. Lie.
We continued on our journey back to the car. Once we got there I told my friend that she was going to have to drive. I then reclined the passenger seat and curled up in the fetal position. We were about five minutes into our thirty-minute drive home and I was begging for my friend find a place where I could stop and use the bathroom. When a McDonalds appeared my friend dropped me off at the door. I got inside and pulled on the bathroom door only to find out that it was locked. Really? Lord please help me now! I had to go ask the cashier to buzz me in before I could have access to the facilities.
That’s four emergency freaking trips to the bathroom, in one hour. Kill me now. I suffered through the rest of the car ride home while experiencing painful waves of cramps. I warned my friend that she would have to drive to my house so that I could immediately run inside and find refuge in my own bathroom. She would have to walk home. She only lives two doors away so it wasn’t that cruel of a request. After arriving home I was either lying on my bathroom floor or you know where for the next three hours. My children and husband were hoping to greet me and shower me with congratulatory hugs and kisses. Instead I had to run past them to take my place on the bathroom floor.
After two does of anti-diarrheal pills I began to feel better late that afternoon. Finally, I was ready to accept my congratulations and debrief with my running partner and family about my amazing accomplishment. This was not what I expected.
Do you have stomach problems after running long and hard? How do avoid it from happening?