Something strange happens when I am running. At some point, I lose all sense of propriety. Correction, I know exactly that what I am saying is not a polite topic of conversation, but I proceed to say it nonetheless...and with abandon.
Over the past several weeks, I have forced MK to talk about basically every topic of conversation that can be covered by two best friends. We've discussed the movies (The Social Network...pretty solid, but kind of depressing...I enjoyed it), our romantic escapades (I use the word "escapades" to convey a sense of excitement and intrigue...this part of our conversation is usually quite short), various financial topics (including, but not limited to, who's turn it is to fork over the $3.50 for our group queso during our post run breakfast at the Taco Joint), and general complaints (ranging from "I smell awful" to "You smell awful", etc.).
But the topic that I frequent the most is one revolving around my gastrointestinal tract.
Ah, the GI Tract...one of God's great jokes. I mean, picture it. It just looks weird. No one knows how it works (doctors, please lower your hands)...but we all know when it is not. And the times when it is not working somehow manage to coincide almost precisely with when we, as humans, are running.
Any runner has heard of the trots...we live in fear of the grumbling that belies a painful jolt to a disgusting rest stop...you read about it in running magazines and online running websites, where they refer to it with quotation marks or print it in italics. This might lead you to believe that tummy troubles are a topic of conversation that cannot be broached between runners in public. Don't be fooled. Nothing is taboo in the brother/sisterhood of running companions...most particularly the trots.
I remember running past the arboretum with my coach during last year's program while he relayed to me a story involving a Friday night t-bone steak, a bottle of wine and a 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning clinched jog to the 7-11. I believe the words "exploded" and "tragic" were used several times. I still cannot look at that convenience store in the same way.
I have told people I hardly know (and been told by people I do not know) exactly what I/they ate for dinner the night before and the merits of that cuisine in regards to its digestion related effects. We've discussed the pros and cons of breakfast pre-run...what that breakfast should consist of and when it should be consumed. We've talked about recommendations from various nutritionists, websites, running magazines and grandmothers. But we don't just talk about it...we live it.
For those of you who know me well, you know that I enjoy a hardy blech now and again. I am not ashamed of this. In fact I rather enjoy it. But I am afraid that I have literally woken slumbering households on the streets of Lakewood due to burps that can only be described as "thunderous". Additionally, I could fill a small pond with the amount of saliva I produce during a weekly long run. I hate spitting. I hate it when people spit, and I hate spitting myself.
So why this sudden freedom to discuss the comings and goings of the bowels and their supporting glandular pals? Frankly, I'm not sure. Much like being slightly inebriated, running gives you carte blanche to proudly discuss almost any topic. Sure, it's not for everyone. To be clear, MK is more of a passive observer rather than an active participant. But when else do you get to discuss the strong points of various port-a-potties and the exact location of bushes that might work in a pinch.
I try to remind myself that if people slowly move away from me during my run, it might be because they don't subscribe to my free spirited no-holds-barred conversations (in which case, good ridance), or it might be because they are suffering through their own "moving" experience and just want you to be upwind (in which case, God bless).
Timmy
Over the past several weeks, I have forced MK to talk about basically every topic of conversation that can be covered by two best friends. We've discussed the movies (The Social Network...pretty solid, but kind of depressing...I enjoyed it), our romantic escapades (I use the word "escapades" to convey a sense of excitement and intrigue...this part of our conversation is usually quite short), various financial topics (including, but not limited to, who's turn it is to fork over the $3.50 for our group queso during our post run breakfast at the Taco Joint), and general complaints (ranging from "I smell awful" to "You smell awful", etc.).
But the topic that I frequent the most is one revolving around my gastrointestinal tract.
Ah, the GI Tract...one of God's great jokes. I mean, picture it. It just looks weird. No one knows how it works (doctors, please lower your hands)...but we all know when it is not. And the times when it is not working somehow manage to coincide almost precisely with when we, as humans, are running.
Any runner has heard of the trots...we live in fear of the grumbling that belies a painful jolt to a disgusting rest stop...you read about it in running magazines and online running websites, where they refer to it with quotation marks or print it in italics. This might lead you to believe that tummy troubles are a topic of conversation that cannot be broached between runners in public. Don't be fooled. Nothing is taboo in the brother/sisterhood of running companions...most particularly the trots.
I remember running past the arboretum with my coach during last year's program while he relayed to me a story involving a Friday night t-bone steak, a bottle of wine and a 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning clinched jog to the 7-11. I believe the words "exploded" and "tragic" were used several times. I still cannot look at that convenience store in the same way.
I have told people I hardly know (and been told by people I do not know) exactly what I/they ate for dinner the night before and the merits of that cuisine in regards to its digestion related effects. We've discussed the pros and cons of breakfast pre-run...what that breakfast should consist of and when it should be consumed. We've talked about recommendations from various nutritionists, websites, running magazines and grandmothers. But we don't just talk about it...we live it.
For those of you who know me well, you know that I enjoy a hardy blech now and again. I am not ashamed of this. In fact I rather enjoy it. But I am afraid that I have literally woken slumbering households on the streets of Lakewood due to burps that can only be described as "thunderous". Additionally, I could fill a small pond with the amount of saliva I produce during a weekly long run. I hate spitting. I hate it when people spit, and I hate spitting myself.
So why this sudden freedom to discuss the comings and goings of the bowels and their supporting glandular pals? Frankly, I'm not sure. Much like being slightly inebriated, running gives you carte blanche to proudly discuss almost any topic. Sure, it's not for everyone. To be clear, MK is more of a passive observer rather than an active participant. But when else do you get to discuss the strong points of various port-a-potties and the exact location of bushes that might work in a pinch.
I try to remind myself that if people slowly move away from me during my run, it might be because they don't subscribe to my free spirited no-holds-barred conversations (in which case, good ridance), or it might be because they are suffering through their own "moving" experience and just want you to be upwind (in which case, God bless).
Timmy
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