In training for my up and coming solo all-weekend-non-stop run, this morning I awoke at 5:40 am (without an alarm clock, which impresses only me) threw on my running shoes, and left the house arunnin'. By the mile and a half mark, my bowels dropped. At first I thought, oh it's just a fart, it'll pass. Alas, it wasn't and I was forced to clench by buttocks in the most uncomfortable (and unsightly in spandex) way. Suddenly, it seemed like all the people in my hood decided to come out for a morning jaunt, or dog walk, or simply to wave hello. I immediately stopped running to prevent public poo explosion, but the cramping increased and so, as I walked briskly shaking my arms wildly to distract my lower regions, I desperately looked for a tallish bush to poop behind. But no, I thought to myself, I'd rather shit my pants than freak one of my neighbors out. They'd call the police and I'd be known in the neighborhood as the crazy lady who shits in bushes. And this is Portland, the news would probably make the Living section of the Oregonian. Luckily, the cramping stopped and I made it home just in time to sit upon the thrown.