Wherein I disgust you with a discussion of my bowels before getting to the real reason for this post – presenting you with a new phrase to use in public. Oh, and referencing MC Hammer.
One of the common questions I’m often asked by friends, family, and random strangers is ‘Nitmos, how do you keep such a clean and regular colon?’
It’s funny because I’m not really regular nor – judging my Mrs. Nitmos’s reaction to my laundry – very clean. They must be confused by my generally relaxed, clog-free countenance. It can be intestinally deceptive.
The truth of the matter is I’m full of shit quite a bit. While I complain about Cube Farter here at work, my odorous sounds are legendary around the Nitmos home. I feel it’s my duty being the man of the house. Like Simba rising to replace the slain Mufasa, I have taken up the position of Chief Butt Burper. (And, yes, when my son was born I stood on the roof and held him aloft under his arm pits – amidst shrieks of terror from Mrs. Nitmos, neighbors, and various law enforcement officers - and proclaimed him Junior Butt Burper. He has much to learn.)
While I’m proud of the symphony of dulcet tones I compose for my family, it does lead to a little tension and binding come Race Day. No one likes to carry extra baggage on a run. Especially a 26.2 miler. Even a 5k can turn potentially humiliating – though hilarious – if the colon isn’t cleansed prior to the race.
I’ve wrestled with this one a lot. Ideally, I need to expel prior to the morning of the race. I’ve experienced the 5k Run for the Port-a-Potty in 2003 and it didn’t end pretty. I made it. But just barely. I believe they imploded the unit afterwards. Nothing could be done to save it. Sorry.
I’ve gotten into the habit of dropping acid* the night before the night before a marathon. This way, I can spend the day before the big race touring the city’s restrooms. (In Chicago, I recommend the Borders Books near the old Water Tower on Michigan Ave. for it’s out of the way location, lighting, atmosphere, and abundance of toilet paper) Come race day – viola! – fresh, clean, light and ready to run!
I can think of nothing worse than frittering away valuable seconds, nay, minutes unclogging the pipes at mile 6 while hundreds of marathoners stampede by. You are losing irretrievable time. You have no magazine or newspaper to read. Inevitably, you’ll pinch under the pressure before you get to the roots and find yourself a few miles down the road with, ahem, shifting half cargo.
I’ve read accounts and I don’t envy those of you who have had to stop mid race. So far, I have not had this issue.
In the 48 hours leading into a race, my bowels tend to be the main topic of conversation between Mrs. Nitmos and I (whether she likes it or not). Normally, I let them go about their business in peace and at their own schedule. You need a few extra minutes? Sure, I can let the legs go numb. No Problem.
All deals with my colon are off when a race approaches though. The lower g.i. needs to snap back into shape. My bowel full must become a bowl full. It’s a little something I call Droppin’ the “E”. See? It’s catchy. (Bow-e-l full becomes bowl full minus the ‘e’. Get it? Its been dropped.)
Feel free to use this new term I just invented for you in public. Children can hear (and use it) and no one will slap their mouths or even care. I’m like the MC Hammer of bowel movements with my wacky colloquialisms and all.
Before your next big race, do what you need to in order to Drop the E. Your PR may depend on it.
It might be hard to pass sometimes but, trust me, you’re Too Legit to Quit. And as far as quality race time saving tips, U Can’t Touch This one.
If the pre-race cleansing doesn’t work? Well, then Pray.
That's it. I'm tired.
* And by acid, I mean Ex Lax.
Congratulations to Ovens2Betsy for her stealth BQ.
=Legs are still sore from Sunday. Somewhere from 16-18 miles for this weekend's LR depending on Saturday night's festivities.