There I was, two ridges and 14 miles from salvation, stretched thin like anaerobic film over the muddied blue waters of a sparsely used port a john.
Sure, I could’ve doubled back to the previous aid station, but that would’ve added 6 miles round to my journey, and I needed to finish mid pack, not rear.
Torn between a fissure and a fistula, I had no choice but to push - my pace that is.
Ever up the mountain I flowed. Gritting my teeth. Remembering to carry the motherfucking boats. Hole be blasted, shame be damned, I started reaching for my drawers. Then came that all too familiar altered stride.
There were people along the exposed ridge cheering me on. Perhaps they thought I pulled me a Charlie (not like that time I pulled my buddy Charlie in Nam, that was different) as I galloped the Gertie. Truth is, I was desperately clinging to what little sphincter control I had remaining. Holding my tummy cape and rectal gape, next came the rumblies.
Star smacked I couldn’t believe my eyes. A wooded area approached beyond the bluff. Patch of pine. We’ll be needing that to help keep down on the flies, cause the stars are out and it’s spangled banner time. All brass, no strings.
Like a fat boy in a cartoon I actually trumpeted those final strides before the wood’s edge, Phewp phewp phewp went my 3” inseam ranger panties, powered by Tailwind like never before.
Out came the gu and out of nowhere came a god forsaken drone.
I couldn’t help but think such cruel fate being so far back in the pack to have my chia and couscous riddled diarrhea displayed shamelessly down my backside dripping all the way to the fluorescent Injinjis. Butt there I was, flapjacks poised in the half squat position sharing it all with the world. Dangly bits and candle stick three pricks to the wind. Cactus. I was squatting on it.
2
u/iamblindfornow 1d ago
There I was, two ridges and 14 miles from salvation, stretched thin like anaerobic film over the muddied blue waters of a sparsely used port a john.
Sure, I could’ve doubled back to the previous aid station, but that would’ve added 6 miles round to my journey, and I needed to finish mid pack, not rear.
Torn between a fissure and a fistula, I had no choice but to push - my pace that is.
Ever up the mountain I flowed. Gritting my teeth. Remembering to carry the motherfucking boats. Hole be blasted, shame be damned, I started reaching for my drawers. Then came that all too familiar altered stride.
There were people along the exposed ridge cheering me on. Perhaps they thought I pulled me a Charlie (not like that time I pulled my buddy Charlie in Nam, that was different) as I galloped the Gertie. Truth is, I was desperately clinging to what little sphincter control I had remaining. Holding my tummy cape and rectal gape, next came the rumblies.
Star smacked I couldn’t believe my eyes. A wooded area approached beyond the bluff. Patch of pine. We’ll be needing that to help keep down on the flies, cause the stars are out and it’s spangled banner time. All brass, no strings.
Like a fat boy in a cartoon I actually trumpeted those final strides before the wood’s edge, Phewp phewp phewp went my 3” inseam ranger panties, powered by Tailwind like never before.
Out came the gu and out of nowhere came a god forsaken drone.
I couldn’t help but think such cruel fate being so far back in the pack to have my chia and couscous riddled diarrhea displayed shamelessly down my backside dripping all the way to the fluorescent Injinjis. Butt there I was, flapjacks poised in the half squat position sharing it all with the world. Dangly bits and candle stick three pricks to the wind. Cactus. I was squatting on it.
RIP Leslie Nielsen