Marathon

I have my best friend Alex to blame for being here, He more than once shit his pants while running in a marathon and it changed me. I was/am a great friend, so I go to support him, literally waiting for him at the finish line with a cold bottle of coconut water and a balloon. The first time it happened I couldn’t really grasp it. I mean, here’s a 24 year old guy, standing there with shorts literally sagging down to the back of his thighs, full of his own poop. That first time I reacted by not reacting, probably because I was in shock. I acted like everything was cool even though my nose wanted to die. I helped him waddle to the car, wincing when he sat down on a towel I’d slipped over the seat. I pretended not to notice the utter catastrophe that was once his ass when he got up. In the hotel I ignored the stares of horrified onlookers, marching him through the lobby with grim determination. In the safety of our room Alex finally observed his situation in the full length mirror, simply saying “so I did shit my pants. I had a feeling that’s what was happening.” And that was that. Until the next race six months later in Chicago.

I was still a little traumatized but when Alex spent 30 minutes in the bathroom before the race I felt like things would be okay this time. I was wrong. Four hours and forty five minutes later I was right back in that alternate universe where grown men poop their pants. This time Alex announced it as soon as I found him.

“Buddy. I think I shit my pants again but wow what a great race!” He was beaming with endorphins. He smelled like shit. His shorts clung to the back of his butt and thighs and was stained through the fabric in an upside down V shape. Following him back to the car I couldn’t help but stare at it and wonder what it must feel like. By the time we got back to the hotel he was hurting, both of his legs were cramping up. All he wanted was a warm bath so I helped him into the tub, still wearing his sweaty, shitty kit. He was in such rough shape I slipped off his shoes for him and carefully peeled his t-shirt off. There was no way I was touching those shorts though. He said he’d be fine so I left him to bathe and promptly fell asleep on the hard hotel bed.

I swear it was the smell in the room that woke me up. Way, way worse than it was when I’d fallen asleep. I held my nose and made my way to the bathroom but stopped as soon as I saw that Alex was still in the tub. The door was open just enough for me to see both of his hands on his crotch, rubbing himself through his grey nylon shorts. The sight and comprehension of that combined with the stink of him was enough for me to decide that I was done helping him out with marathons. This was just too weird for me. I pretended to sleep until I heard the shower turn on.

Alex explained a lot that night. Firstly, he apologized and thanked me for my help which really made me feel better. He told me how recently, when he ran more than fourteen miles his stomach felt like it was “dropping”. With each footfall gravity seemed to literally pull what was inside of him out. He’d tried to quit running but got so depressed without it that he decided to just deal. He bought special underwear with tight leg bands that prevented major breaches. He also changed his diet, which had helped. The problem, he thought, was nerves. Forty eight hours before both marathons he got constipated. That combined with the carb loading and caloric increases before the race made for a spectacular problem during the second half of each marathon.

“It doesn’t happen all at once” he told me, “it’s like I can feel it start to poke out while I’m running, and it just kind of stays that way, with every step it creeps a little bit further out. I try to pinch it off but I can’t. It’s literally miles before it’s all the way out. I’m running with this massive thing coming out of me. The weirdest part though is that it feels fucking awesome.” He made me promise not to tell anyone.

Crazy right? What am I supposed to do with that? I tried not to think about it in the months leading up to Austin. We hung out plenty but didn’t talk about it once. I dreamed about it though. All the time. I wasn’t going to consciously deal with it but my subconscious had other plans. I’m not going to write them down. I feel like those dreams are seared into my soul. They were the first wet dreams I had since I was 12. Why something so gross had that effect on me I have no idea.

Austin was perfect. Really sunny, nice and warm. The morning of the race Alex beat me to the bathroom and stayed there until it was time to leave. I could tell he hadn’t been able to go by the look on his face. I had to go but there was no time so I resigned myself to finding a porta-potty along the route.

Things got weird once Alex was off and running. I wondered around feeling restless, needing to use the bathroom but avoiding them. The pressure I was feeling almost hurt. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing. I was distracted, anxious and uncomfortable. Finally I decided to use a Starbucks bathroom a few miles in but the line was literally out the door with panicked looking runners. I had a feeling Alex wouldn’t be the only one carrying a little extra weight during the race.

Alex’s training had majorly paid off. He ran his best speed that day. Three hours and fifty seven minutes. I hadn’t even bought his balloon yet. He found me walking up the side walk and grabbed me up in the biggest wettest hug I’ve ever gotten. He smelled horrible. No surprise there. There and then, with his arms squeezing me way too tightly I shit my pants. It all just came out. I felt my shorts and underwear stretch. I sighed with actual relief as the warm bundle spread out against my skin. It probably only took 10 to 15 blissful seconds but when I was done I instantly felt better. Physically anyway. Yes I know I should have been disgusted but It absolutely did feel great. Alex bounced me up and down a few times before letting me go which caused the weirdest sounding farts to escape and made me pee a little too. I felt my face flush. Alex was so high on endorphins I was sure he hadn’t noticed. He found a bench at the edge of a little park and sat right down, I didn’t. He gulped down his coconut water, wiped the sweat off his face and looked at me, squinting his eyes in the sun.

“You are the best, coolest, most patient friend in the world” he said. “Let’s celebrate! Let’s go get a beer!”. He popped up from the bench and pointed to a bar a block and a half away. “That one. Let’s go there!” He said. I pointed to the circle of dampness he’d left on the seat of the bench.

“I think we should maybe get you back to the hotel? Maybe have a shower?”

“Oh shit you’re right! I’ve got shitty shorts on”. He said almost gleefully. So we walked to the hotel together, Alex telling me about two guys he saw piss themselves during the race while I tried to walk like I didn’t have three pounds of shit in my underwear.

There’s a lot I could say about walking with a load in your pants. There’s more I could say about the back of Alex’s shorts. Your imagination can probably do it more justice than my descriptions can. All I’ll say is that it felt fucking great in the weirdest possible way. Alex had no idea what I’d done, it probably wasn’t even visible, unlike Alex’s mud flap of an ass. The bottom of his t-shirt was even stained through. Walking with him was the perfect camouflage. I knew I stank righteously but he would take all the blame.

While Alex was in the shower I took some time for myself. Just me, the mirror and a chair. All the dreams I’d been having fused into waking reality for a few brief ecstatic moments. I came so hard it got in my eye.

I slipped into the bathroom as soon as Alex was done. For some reason I didn’t want him to find out, maybe because what he had done was legitimately accidental, where as mine was……I didn’t know what mine was. I still don’t know why I did it.

Showering wasn’t so bad but I had no idea what to do with my underwear. I stood there under the hot water completely perplexed, getting more and more anxious about it until I heard the bathroom door open. I hadn’t even locked it! I peeked out of the curtain. Alex was peeking inside the door.

“Hey, sorry to barge in. Is it okay if I throw your underwear away or did you want to try to clean them?” I didn’t say anything. “I’m going to toss them then” he said, gingerly placing them in a plastic shopping bag.

“How did you know?” I asked. My voice sounded alien to me.

“Seth,” he said. “I do have a nose you know. And eyes”

So that’s how a normal straight guy gets turned into a bisexual scatological diaper loving kinkster. I didn’t ask for it but I’m definitely not complaining. I kind of think it was always in me, it just took one big push to get it out. It’s a tradition with us now. Marathons or not, when we hang out bathrooms are always optional.

Comments

  1. airborne

    I think a lot of people are influenced by someone or something that happened. For me it was more something that happened rather than someone but there is one person that might have affected me more than I remember. That person was a boy in high school when I was about 6 or 7 years old. One day while he talked to me after school, I could clearly see his underwear while he stood beside me. To my surprise he had clearly pooed in his underwear and not just a little. At the time I was doing it my underwear accidently a lot so discovering a much older person also did it fascinated me. After that time, I began to take more notice of him and realized he also did it quite a lot. I sometimes wonder if he had more influence on me than what I remember.

  2. leaon33

    Wow, what a story! You’re very articulate and good with words, I’m impressed. Hope this was the start of a great pants-pooping career for you, haha!