This Post Will Be Offensive and Gross

last monday, i decided to try running on the treadmill at the gym. when i signed up at the YMCA a little over a month ago, i was not able to jog for a full mile without stopping, much to my dismay. i decided to use the elliptical trainer and the rowing machine for a few weeks to improve my cardiovascular fitness. on monday, i tried jogging at 5 mph to see how much i'd improved. to my surprise, i handled it quite easily.

i was really enjoying the lightness of my feet and the fact that i was not gasping for breath. about six minutes into my jog, i realized i needed to take a shit. really badly. because i'd been running, the urge to vacate was accompanied by abdominal cramps. meanwhile, to my horror, i realized i didn't know where the bathrooms were. it's a ten minute walk to my house from the Y, maybe longer if i'm doubled over with the shit-cramps.

i foolishly continued to jog for a little while longer, hoping that it would just all go away, because i hate getting started on a workout and then having to stop. eventually, the shit-cramps got bad enough that i decided to forsake the treadmill and go in search of a toilet. frankly, i had begun to fear that a few of those nasty, wet pre-shit farts would blow out my ass while i was running.

so, i started exploring the medieval maze that is the central square ymca. i think i visited every single space in that building except the bathrooms. i walked up some stairs and then down some stairs and back again. by that time, i couldn't stand to wait for the elevator. i was afraid i'd drop my load if i didn't keep moving. finally, i decided to ask someone at the front desk. the most annoying thing about the layout of the central square Y is that NO ONE, and i mean NO ONE can give you directions to anything in that building.

the front desk woman asked me if i knew where the women's locker rooms were. by that point, i was pretty sure that i wasn't going to escape the situation without a nice, fresh skidmark on my underwear. for the life of me, i couldn't figure out why she thought i knew where anything was since i was asking *her* for directions. that building must defy the descriptive power of human language because she didn't even bother to try and give me directions to the locker room. it was at that point, after wasting precious seconds with the chit chat about the damned locker rooms that she bothered to inform me that there was a bathroom around the corner.

moral of the story? take a shit before you go jogging.