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Oct 9, 2013

Running Makes me DO. Number TWO.

Dudes.

I have had a revelation.
A revelation in the skinnies!
Some may think that running is good cardio and burns calories and whips you into shape.
But those fools would be wrong.

What it triggers is another problem.

 *DISCLAIMER*
It's about to get shitty up in here. Lit-rally.







I seriously hope I am not the only one.
Since I took up running again at the beginning of this summer, I noticed by mile marker two,
That I had to DO Number TWO.

What.
The.
Fuck.

Every single time, I will get into my groove, beats jammin', the initial shock to my body that I am doing something physical worn off, hitting a nice pace, and then BAM!

Life punches me in the gut and I start to feel weird.
Back then I was only running a couple miles so I could just shimmy home and hope no one hears me groaning.

Sick. I know.
Bear with me.
Someone has to let it be known!

So anyways, fast forward to my Big Run last night.
Ha, just kidding, it was only three miles, but dudes, that's the farthest I have run since I was 24.
My new route in the new neighborhood is a big circle. Instead of two smaller loops.

I head out.
"Snap Yo Fingers" is cranking on my iPod, and I too, and snapping my fingers, along with Lil' John.
Gettin' in the groove.
Poppin' bottles y'all.

Jesus I'm retarded.

I go up the big hill to the ski jump, then back down.
Phew!
The worst is over. Smooth sailing from now on.
I hit the end of mile two.
And that gut punch happens again.

I keep telling myself, it's just a cramp, it'll pass.
But the feeling is growing.
I am in pain.
I get wide eyed and start wildly scanning this new territory for what? A porto potty? A bush?
I am violently looking at the size of leaves in people's front yard.
How many would it take to take care of business?
But where would I hide?
Do I just ask someone to let me in so I can tear up their toilet?
Let's pause this for a second.

I am sure you are thinking, TBag, why the hell didn't you go before you left?

Because, yo, I am like a toddler.
I didn't HAVE to go then.
BUT I SURE AS HELL HAVE TO NOW.

The last straight away on my loop has, hands down, one of the shittiest dive bars (no pun intended) in the area.
I am contemplating how many skeezeballs I will have to encounter to use the facilities.
And then once I am there, what kind of Lotto do I get to take as far as how well maintained the bathroom is?
Would they even have a women's bathroom?

Fuck it.
I am about to shit my pants.
I'm going in.

I head inside.
It's dark as fuck in there.
And here I am, bopping around like a little lost cheerleader, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone that is clearly staring at me.
I do what I do and wrap that shit up.  Zing! I could go on all day.

I finish up and sprinted the last leg home.
I felt light as a feather!
Slicing through the wind!

So dudes, the moral of the story is, I have no shame, and running makes you poop, therefore, making you feel skinny, even if only temporarily.

The more you know.

Turdy TBag. Out