This post is dedicated to the mama who just came in from her light jog with her panties all in a wad frantically Googling a slew of related search terms looking for some comiseration.  Well darlin’, I’m here for you.  Let’s comiz, shall we?

No one ever tells you that after you have a baby your sphincter control(s) (ALL OF THEM) will never be the same.  The postbaby love sponge doth not like a hard jostling about her bits.  My bits handed it to me tonight.

I was about 3 miles into my run and homeward bound.  I was feeling strong, hauling ass, running like the wind.  As I turned a corner and headed downhill alongside a lake a sudden burst of energy kicked in and I was all like Johnny Quick.  And then it hit me in one stride.  Squirt.  And the next.  Squirt, squirt.  It was as though a pocket warmer had snapped off in my underwear and all I could think to myself is (fuck. fuck. fuck.  NOW?  SERIOUSLY?  i am NOT stopping.  this is ridiculous.  am i going to full on piss myself?  fuck.) And since I had no intention of running off into the bushes somewhere to get myself sorted out I did what any logical obsessedwiththewatch runner would do, and stuffed my knitted gloves down into my pants.  But can you just imagine this?  It’s 5pm.  People are everywhere in my neighborhood.  And I don’t care in this moment.  I’m a RUNNER dammit!  A horribly mortified one.

So I do this one-handed and so quickly that half the glove is up my thigh against my skin tights and so it now appears as though I am packing one hefty sausage.   The other part is sticking out my butt.  I look like a damn fool.  And the synthetic fibers I’ve just rammed up my thang are itching the hell out me.  And the more I think about each squirt.  The more I squirt.  Until it gets to the point where I am convinced piss will soon be trickling out my pant leg and into my socks.  How is this happening to me?

Every time I try to adjust myself it becomes worse (because people I am hauling ass…im that quick).  The gloves are now creeping down my leg.  And everyone it seems has decided, to do yardwork!  It’s like 40 degrees!!  Who does YARDWORK in 40 degrees?!  I need to fish a Depends out of my running pants and I can’t get some privacy to save my life.   I get home and pull the unfortunate gloves out only to discover one little piddly spot of whoopsiedaisy.  I was so sure I had soaked myself – it felt like a river.

So anyway, my point is this – it happens.  It happened to me.  I’ve no doubt it will continue to happen.   And it freaking SUCKS.  That is all.