File this one under TMI, and don't say I didn't warn you.
So, last night, before heading out to dinner with some friends at P.F. Chang's (my friends love chain restaurants), Wes asked me, "What are we going to get at P.F. Chang's?" And I enthusiastically responded, "Diarrhea!"
Famous last words, y'all. Unlike my sister (haha) I have a pretty good, well-behaved G.I. system. But running can sometimes really fuck me up. After my first half marathon I literally almost pooped my pants, and I am NOT an elite runner. It wasn't that I was pushing myself so hard, it's just that running jostles your insides, and debilitating stomach cramps snuck up on me after the race, far enough away from a bathroom that disaster seemed imminent.
So sometimes my stomach acts up. It most often happens after really long runs. But this week, the combination of clam chowder for lunch on Friday, clam chowder for lunch on Saturday and a 20-mile run on Sunday seem to have laid me down for the count.
I'm dying. I finished running at like 11:30. It is now 3:09, and I am typing this from the bathroom. The toilet is the only place I can sit upright without getting cramps that send me running back to the toilet. I've been here so long that my foot is asleep. I was gchatting with Kate, so I brought the computer in here with me and figured I may as well blog. Lucky you. I really wish I had my camera in here. I'd post pictures of my vanity--by which I mean the cabinet. A blog about me shitting is enough of an illustration of my self vanity (self vanity?). But I guess it's weird enough that I have my computer with me...
Seriously, thank God we have the internet. Now everyone can suffer with me.