A Short Story About a Gnawingly Long Run

Most people in my life know this story. It is commonly referred to as "the time I gnawed my panties off" story. I alluded to it in an earlier blog post about the time when Mom, Dad and I were vacationing in Door County and I was about to poop my pants (and for the record, again, I have never actually pooped my pants; this being an uncommonly weird exception). This true tale I am about to share is kept alive in those special moments like Thanksgivings or family dinners when someone new is meeting the family and one of my siblings or nephews decides to bring this embarrassing story to light. Well, now it is on the inter webs for all to experience. It's admittedly best told in person, by me, because I act it out in a way that leaves onlookers and listeners grateful that they have never experienced such a tragedy.

It is a frigid Sunday morning in Kansas City, Missouri. As I crawl out of bed in the guest bedroom of my best friend’s home in Lakewood, the goose bumps on my body reveal only a fraction of their near future reaction to the freezing temperatures outside. My whole purpose for waking at such an ungodly hour is to join my friend’s dad and his running partner for a 20-mile training run for the Boston Marathon.

With my clothes laid out the night before in anticipation of our freezing trek, I begin my mental preparation while sipping a cup of fresh coffee and staring into the East, hoping that at some point within the next two hours the sun will begin to peek over the horizon. As I stare, partly in anticipation of the sunrise, and partly from the residual effect of recent slumber, I am joined by my running cohorts, Walt and Lee.

Coffee in hand, we sit together and congratulate ourselves on our courage and willingness to conquer the elements, which today include sleeting rain and a windchill temperature of -10 degrees. I describe the last time I made a training run in such conditions: my eyelashes froze together and my foot struck a patch of ice that was undetectable due to the small slits through which I was peering, causing me to nearly body slide under an oncoming vehicle. Walt and Lee laugh uneasily as they imagine what adventure awaits us today. Nonetheless, we are up for the challenge. Come what may.

As any all-weather runner knows, attire is crucial to the survival of the body and spirit in such inclement weather. I am certainly prepared as I shimmy into panties (the full panty, since I was not yet wearing thong panties back then), a jog bra, my running tights (the stirrup kind, because this story took place in the early 90's), and a long-sleeved cotton tee, and my GORE-TEX running suit, complete with gloves and a stocking cap to keep my body heat from escaping into the Arctic-like cold. I even stuff my pockets with toilet tissue in case the coffee kicks in somewhere along the more remote areas of our course. Typically, when you have all the provisions in place, such emergencies tend to bypass you. You are graced for thinking ahead. It is when you have not, for some reason, had the forethought to prepare for such pit stops that the urge blindsides you, and suddenly you are wiping with a leaf from a nearby plant, hoping you remember how many leaves poison ivy has.

Our first 7 miles prove challenging, as head winds chafe our faces and the temperature tempts us toward home. We blaze a trail onto the untouched roadways in rural Lees Summit and turn a deaf ear to the internal beckoning of our bodies to run back to warmth and shelter. We are road warriors on a mission, and we have every intention of accomplishing all 20 freezing miles of it. In my own way of surviving the sleet that falls upon my cheeks like microscopic razors, I dream that it is the warm shower water that will  soothe my body in only a couple of hours.

Suddenly, the effect of the coffee hits me. My determined visualization of a warm shower shatters; I am now feeling the moment I hit "the wall" just as I completed a Hail Mary in the Kansas City Marathon. I have to find a way to quickly excuse myself from the pack so I can take refuge beneath a tree somewhere deep in the woods. The only problem with this is  that we are running along a county road with open fields rolling into the distance along both sides. Good God! Where will I go?

The sense of urgency is suddenly amped up quite a bit…and time is of the essence. I spot a dip in the field to my right and hope it is a ravine deep enough to provide me the privacy I need. I mumble something about the horrible timing of digestion and make a beeline to the ditch.

My gloved hands make it almost impossible to unsnap my GORE-TEX pants and untie my nylon tights, so I pull my gloves off at frantic speed. I manage to undo the necessary fastenings in time to squat into position, in spite of my freezing metacarpals, and allow my body to relax and release. Ahhh…thank God.

Or so I think.

My already fatigued legs quiver from squatting, as well as from being exposed to the bitter cold, and desperate to know how much longer I will have to endure this position, I quickly glance between my legs to the ground to check things out... and to my horror, I see absolutely NOTHING but the white snow beneath my suspended ass.

I am baffled. I feel my heart rate increase. I am distracted as I hear Lee holler from the road to see if I am okay. Then I realize it…Holy Mother of God… I have not pulled my panties down!

My mind races, “F*ck!, what do I do?" The two men run in place atop a hill, yelling for me as freezing rain bullets their bodies. I have panties full of what my colon has just released, and I have no idea how I am going to get out of this mess to rejoin them.

Realizing I cannot pull my panties down and discard them without taking off my tights (who in the hell wears stirrup tights???), running pants, and shoes, I do the first thing that enters my mind.

With the conviction and tenacity of a Survivor participant in the Polar North, I grab one side of my panties and pull the elastic with all my might. To no avail. My hands are so frozen that the stretched elastic is literally cutting into the skin of my palms, as well as tightening around my sore and contracted hamstrings. "Oh my god. What the f*ck? Seriously?" I pull with all my might again. The elastic is as strong as a towing chain.

I have no choice. I twist my body into a position that would make most contortionists cringe and proceed to frantically gnaw the stretched elastic with my teeth. After several seconds of looking like a starved animal in the Serengeti masticating its prey, the elastic breaks! Freedom! Well, at least for one leg.

As the freezing sleet continues to collect inside my pant legs, and now that my labia is completely frozen due to spread-eagle exposure, I resume the position and give my incisors a workout on the other panty leg. In no time, I am free.

I yell up to my running buddies to assure them that I will return shortly, sit bare-bottomed in the snow for a bit of butt-numbing cleansing from Mother Nature, re-clothe the bottom half of my body, and laugh to myself as I bury my panties (and all they contain) beneath the snow, knowing it will take me a long time before I am willing to share this story.

The next 13 miles will feel like an eternity, but I hope that by the time this run is complete my labia will have thawed.

That shower I daydreamed of earlier in this run? It just took on a whole new meaning.