hallowed acts

  so there i was: alone.  in the head.  door latched shut.  lamp off.  brilliant sunlight shining down from the deck prism.  alone with my thoughts.  i could only hear the sound of my own breath.  and there it was:  “Geegee!”  a summon.  blast.
  I had to act fast.  think quickly.  so up from the depths of my primal human instincts sprang my only reasonable defense- “I’m POOPING!”  wait- was i pooping?  no, of course i wasn't pooping.  it was all a beautiful lie.  hell, i didn’t even have to pee, but i relaxed my ‘down there’ muscles anyway in a desperate effort to see if i could somehow make it a more legitimate claim.  no.  not a chance.  but i was in the head, dammit- which must already count for something.  is nothing sacred?  and just like that, i had played the poop card.  don’t judge me.  ::narrows eyes::  you’ve done it too. 
  i furrowed my brow in intense contemplation.  why had i even gone into the head in the first place?   i didn’t have to be in there- or did i?  i had a revelation sitting there on the toilet.  as i do.  why is pooping the last taboo?  it’s such a fundemental bodily function.  sneezing, coughing, peeing, even vomiting- those things are all done rather publicly.  but not pooping.  so it hit me.  pooping is the last excuse we as human beings have to shut ourselves up alone in a room, lock the door, and be left completely alone.  unharried.  we all need to be left alone from time to time.  but simply needing to be left alone isn’t enough of an excuse to actually be left alone.  case in point:  you tell your supervisor “please leave me alone right now, i would really prefer not to be in your presence”  and suddenly you have a problem on your hands.   but if you switch it up and announce “sorry, i’m pooping,” instantly, no one wants to be the one to encroach on your personal space.  it’s a glorious fail-safe.  no one can touch that.   hence- this is the primary reason why pooping will never become a social activity.  it embodies the sanctimonious respect and unspoken vindication of our pursuit of recluse.
  what does this have to do with running?  i’m getting to it.  to runners, a run is a lot like pooping.  when i’m off on my run, there’s no “gigi do this.  gigi where are you?  gigi i need you.  gigi where’s the...?”  there’s a thousand reasons we go for a run, but one of the top five is that we do it to get away.  sorry, it’s true.  no offense.  we as runners revel in our aloneness.  and yet, we run with running partners.  we run with clubs.  we congregate at races.  i don’t think i have ever had a running partner i felt the desire to “need time off” from.  it’s like, they just get it.  we partake in isolation together.  my running partner knows things about me i don’t think my family or non running friends have any idea about.  no one knows us as well as our running partners.  they are our counterparts in a sacred pastime.  anyone you can share with in your privacy and your solitude is a special person.   i guess what i’m trying to explain to non-runners is that your running buddy is the equivalent of bringing someone into the bathroom with you when you’re seeking that moment alone.  it’s very intimate and relieving that such a comfort level can be reached.  it’s an odd analogy, but it works.