Warning: The following may cause embarrassment and eye-rolling in people of the male persuasion. Read at your own risk. Also, if you are pregnant or plan to become so, you may want to skip on over to another column.
As most of you know, I recently turned 40. My twin sister, in order to celebrate this milestone, decided to have a baby. A baby! I can’t top that, but her pregnancy did inspire me to seek out some sort of challenge to prove to myself getting older doesn’t have to mean dementia and osteoporosis. I chose a marathon. Not a full 26.2 miles of course − suffering through one of those puppies was the most miserable experience of my 20s − but a 13.1-mile (half) marathon. It’s still impressive, but far less fatal. And Doo and I are planning a beach vacation with the kids during the summer, so a mini seemed like a great idea. I’ve been training for about six weeks now and am progressing on schedule, but am facing one major hurdle every time I jog.
Uncontrollable urination. And not in a wayside port-a-let. Actually, mid-running. What the hoo-ha? I can deal with the sore knees, the racing heart, even the occasional light-headedness and nausea that come with overexerting myself on a record-high temperature day after 10 hours of work, but I must draw the line at peeing myself. And I’ve tried everything short of self-imposed dehydration. Nothing helps. So now I’m stuck wondering how I’ll manage a maxi pad or even a Depends on race day. Because it’s so freakin’ distracting, not to mention humiliating, when I’m only a mile in and the leaking begins. I ran one hour this morning, and the first thing I had to do once I stumbled into the house and let Doo know I’d survived, was peel off my soaking wet pants and hop in the shower.
Here I am trying to get in shape and show my kids how to set and reach goals, and a little thing like bladder control may derail me. What’s a gal to do?
I do have a friend who opted for surgical treatment, but I’m just not sure I’m ready for that. Sewing up the hooch seems like something my mother or grandmother should be worrying about, not me. I just want to be able to run a few miles and mop up sweat, not urine, like normal people. Is that too much to ask? Peace out.