Tag Archives: New York City Marathon

It’s a problem that has vexed most long distance runners at least once.  Nature calls in the middle of a run and you aren’t sure how to answer.  On a typical run the choice seems obvious, you go.  The only potential roadblock is in the execution.  During a race, however, with a finish clock adding minutes, ‘to go or not to go’ is a harder decision.  There is the convenience of port-a-loos (usually), but the lines can be long and the facilities alarming.  But it might be worth activating the gag-reflex if releasing the stream will make those remaining miles more comfortable, because a more comfortable runner is likely to be a faster runner.  On the other hand, five minutes in a loo queue at the wrong time can break your rhythm, seize your legs, and play havoc with your ability to start up again.  That and there’s the ever-present risk that you will wait in line, undress as required, make a valiant effort to hover on shaky quads, desperately try to avoid dropping your FuelBelt/gels/provisions down the shoot … all for an illusive phantom pee.  Close to the finish line my inner gambler surfaces and I take my chances, using the bladder pressure as motivation to pick up the pace.
 
Others opt for a more untamed approach.  Why waste your time in a loo-line when the wide open road beckons?  Shocking race photos periodically circulate of a runner who forgoes stopping entirely, thus avoiding the comfort-momentum tradeoff.  This hardly seems a necessary alternative for all but those chasing prize money and endorsements deals.  Paula Radcliffe famously let the pee flow on the side of the road during the 2005 London Marathon (the video, for the doubters or the curious), unapologetic in her quest to do the deed as quickly as possible and get on with winning.  Which she did.  I can’t imagine the chafe-y consequences are worth it for those of us running for longer than two hours and seventeen minutes.  Then again I’ve never been known for my competitiveness in athletics.

Even a Boston Qualifier or a PB is a hefty price for miles of running in poopy pants or soggy drawers, at least for me.  Although both of those scenarios are commonly accepted reasons for going while you run etiquette.  Some add the caveat that one should go only if no one can tell you did it.  I’m assuming this means it’s okay to #1 on the run, but #2 is verboten.  The most disquieting of those previously mentioned race pictures normally feature the number two taboo.  I just can’t imagine it happens intentionally.  I’m more inclined to think we’re witnessing a fart gone wrong.  
 
Although I often have a nervous bladder before a race, I’ve only once had to go during the actual event.  It was a 13K bare-bones country road run with no en route facilities or tree cover.  The only object large enough to offer some measure of camouflage was a telephone pole.  Determined not to be embarrassed, I turned my back on the approaching crowd and embraced an ‘if I don’t see you, you don’t see me’ mindset.  Runners are wonderfully forgiving of bathroom breaches of social etiquette.  Perhaps we all realize that we are just one cup of water away from being the one on the side of the road.  Judge not and all that biblical stuff. 

Homeowners are not always so forgiving.  The Boston Marathon included toilet-use instructions in the race booklet and anyone caught relieving themselves on private property risked disqualification from the race.  Seems the fine residents of Hopkinton are, understandably, not too fond of yellow-hued April showers.  Consequently, once we left the town borders the roadside was lined with the backsides of peeing men.  I will admit to the weird of habit of counting pee-ers on the side of the road as I pass by.  I do my counting with some fear of the karma reaper.  Not surprisingly, I’m almost always counting men.  I’m not convinced the male species fully appreciates the biological advantages they have in this regard.  To date, the Boston marathon features my highest count, but I have not yet run New York.
 
During a regular run the question changes from ‘do I go’, to ‘where do I go’?  Or at least it should change.  Why anyone would avoid making a pit stop during a long run is a mystery too me.  I don’t know if this is true (it happened to Grandpa Simpson when an impatient Homer refused to stop the car for a bathroom break, so I assume it is), but if you hold it too long your kidneys might burst.  So where to go on the run?  Stripped of race event infrastructure, we are at the mercy of our surroundings.  Urban centres afford the most variety, assuming there is no “washrooms are for customers only” sign and a proprietor short on empathy.  Not that I’m speaking from personal experience.  I do not drink coffee and therefore don’t get the Starbucks on every corner love affair, but I’m forever grateful for their liberal washroom policies. 

Trails and paths are tricky.  Depending on the “nature” of the call, men may face a challenge well-known by women.  A standing pee and dash is one thing, but matters become more complex when seeking a squat-friendly location.  Decent aftercare products may be too much to expect.  A forested path seems optimal, but also compels one to trudge into the foliage for full concealment.  I once ventured so far off the trail that I was startled senseless by a sleeping man in a hidden shanty town.  I’ve heard that scaring someone can cure them of hiccoughs, but let me be the first to confirm that it also works for peeing.  And sometimes the environment fights back, as a “friend” of mine once discovered the hard way.  Zipping into the brush for a quick tinkle she perched herself over a crazy plant that attacks when disturbed.  Within a microsecond this “stinging nettle” bombarded her with such vigour her left cheek was instantly covered in nasty, itchy red welts.  She couldn’t sit comfortably for  a week.  Um, or so she tells me.  Lesson: look before you pee.