I've been doing pretty good at running lately (and drinking water). I've progressed so far that I'm even biking for 10 minutes (or the equivalent of four songs on the gym's loudspeaker) after my 3-mile run. On a side-note, I've noticed over time that the gym plays their very own special selection of music which consists of gansta hip hop, techno remixes, and eiffel 65, so when I forget my mp3 player, or just decide not to bring it that day, I must endure through the their brilliantly motivational playlist. Anyway, I was running today, as I do on a normal Tuesday, and something funny happened to me that I just had to write about. I was just ridiculous and embarrassing to say the least. So there I was, trucking along on my perpetual rubber belt traveling beneath me. I was doing very well today. For some reason, most likely from watching a few great rounds of Family Fued, I felt like I had an unusual boost of energy that carried me through my whole run. I was feeling really great about myself. I wasn't even sweating that bad. Then it hit me--a force so hard that it almost knocked me off the treadmill's unforgiving tread. I thought I had gone to the bathroom earlier, but maybe it wasn't enough, because I had a gigantic fart waiting to do me in that very hour. My first plan for overcoming this building pressure was to just let it out, but something was hindering me; something fiendish. In other words, if I farted, something would've come out after it. I didn't want to stop my workout, so, for about one mile I did my best to hold it in, periodically changing my typical running form to a sort of my-butt-is-about-to-explode running style at 6.5 miles per hour. I went back and forth like this for the last 10 minutes of my run and eventually was dubbed the victor as I finished three miles. Then in a triumphant march/scurry of sorts, I made a B line for the bathroom and unleashed nature's fury. Nothing felt more satisfying that day until I ate the biggest, most massive, gooey sticky cinnamon roll I've had since my days at Taylor UC. A proper reward for conquering such a fowl beast who dared to interrupt my run.

An important bathroom philosophy

Have you ever been in one of those nice bathrooms? Like when you go into a fancy shmancy restaurant or an over the top club and the bathrooms are like wow! I saw one once with rocks in the sink! And another with cologne you can spray on yourself, just in case you forgot yours. Unfortunately, I have also been on the other side of the spectrum. The dirty side *shutters*. In fact, just the other day, I was pumping some iron, you know, the usual, and I had to pee, bad. Did you know that running is a natural laxative? So are pineapples. Anyway, I walk into this bathroom and lo and behold, as I'm standing at the urinal, I look down and discover a big yellow stain on the floor next to my foot. I was hoping it was a stain and not wet because I hate stepping in someone else's urine. Am I alone? So now I'm thinking, "ok, whose weird yellow stain is this and how did it get here?" It creeped my out and I left feeling dirty, even though I washed my hands.

Another time, I was actually in an airplane and was sitting on something that one can barely call a toilet. Well, it turned out that the entire floor was wet and my shorts were soaking it all up. Oops. I guess I'll just have to walk back to my seat with soaking wet shorts. I wonder what people will think. "wasn't that boy just in the bathroom?" "what did he do in there?" "why are his shorts all wet?"

Alas, even though there are things that can ruin my bathroom experience, there are always the times when some stranger can lift my spirits by casually ripping a gigantic, juicy fart. I'm 24 years old, but I can't help but laugh and forget about all my troubles. Thank you anonymous farting guy.