Marathon Training: Incident #4 (with fabulous illustrations!)
October 9, 2007
First, I'd like to apologize to all of the non-runner-readers out there who have had to deal with the recent surge in running-related posts. I know it must be snoring-boring for you to read about this junk, so I've tried to spice up today's post with some original illustrations.
I hope you enjoy!
Last weekend I went for a twelve-mile run with one of my very favorite running partners. Due to the graphic nature of this story, I feel a pressing need to protect her identity--so for the purposes of this post, we will call her, oh, I don't know, Victoria Beckham (only because I find the real Victoria Beckham strangely alluring, and I like to use her name as much as I possibly can).
Victoria Beckham had a few kids fairly close together, and as a result, she suffers with some serious weakness in the nether-regions. In other words, she has a hard time holding it. Having been her running partner for a few months I'm very familiar with this special need of hers, and consequently I go out of my way to plan routes with a multitude of convenient pit-stops.
Based upon my casual observation, Victoria prefers to make her pit-stops at 7-11 stores. I will never understand why. 7-11s generally smell like sha-dang-dong, the clerks tend to be completely creeptastic, and they sell hamburgers in the shape of hot dogs. The hamburger thing really gets me the wrong way, and for that reason alone you will NEVER catch me taking a wizz at 7-11.
Anywho, there is one 7-11 that we tend to stop at most often--you know, the one where I almost hit the overly aggressive pan-handler with my car a few months ago. As we were approaching the store, Victoria looked me bang in the eye and said, "I've got to go!" She took off running so fast that I didn't even have the time to confirm if it was number one or number two--must've been a true emergency.
Victoria bounded through the front door, and this is what happened:
As you can tell by my illustration, I don't think the pooper was really busted. I think the cashier with the mullet was just tired of helping my friend, so she sent her to the gas station one block down the street.
Victoria hobbled the entire block, and almost broke into tears when she realized that the gas station was closed. No bathroom for her. In a moment of desperation, she looked me in the eye and said, "I'm going behind the dumpster." And off she went.
For some reason, I had a bad feeling about this plan, so I followed my friend to the dumpster and stood about twenty feet away. She scooted behind, and just as she was about to drop her shorts I spotted a pair of black boots, attached to a man, lying on an old mattress.
"Oh damn" I thought. "She's about to take a dump right next to that sketchy dude."
I was like, "Victoria. Victoria! VICTORIA! Pants up! Let's go! I'll explain later!"
This was the scene I saved her from:
As we ran away, I was all, "NEVER pull your pants down behind a dumpster in East Dallas! That's just not safe!"
She was like, "Oh, ok. You're right. But can I go pull them down behind that post office over there?"