As runners, we’re more in touch with our disgusting side. Before getting involved with the sport, I gagged at the idea of having to use a porta potty. It wasn’t just a last resort; to get me in one of those things, every other restroom on the planet would have to be out of order. Even then, I’d probably just opt to squat behind a tree.
Now, I’ve memorized where every porta potty can be found within a ten mile radius of my house. On particularly bad days, I’m actually thankful to spot one. And I’ve found the more I run, the less self-conscious I am of other less-than-appealing bodily functions that pop-up during a jog!
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