When it rains, go to the Man Well

I'm not going to pretend like I'm a weather-hardened East Coaster. Running in the rain sucks. Never liked it, never will. I didn't move to San Diego because I love treadmill running and my skin is sun-sensitive. I'm here because it rains fewer times per year than it does per month in New England. The weather is mild enough that unless there is wildfire ash in the air, you will find me running outside.

Unfortunately tonight was cold, rainy and dark. But I really wanted to run and have some good thinking time, so I decided to man up and call on some of my Man Motivators.

No. 1: Watch a few minutes of Full Metal Jousting.

No. 2: Listen to some old Metallica.

No. 3: RRS Gortex Jacket

Result . . . 4-mile run through Balboa Park complete.

Suffer Session at Kate Sessions

When I'm in need of a Suffer Session, I head to Kate Sessions. After a rejuvenating post-Carlsbad break from running, I'm back on the horse and today was my first hard run. Instead of opting for some easy intervals on flat ground at Mission Bay, I decided to throttle up and visit the hillside park in PB, named for the horticulturist known as the Mother of Balboa Park. Hills for breakfast!

The 79-acre park sits perched above the bay and 10-20 of those acres, starting near where Lamont St. turns into Soledad Rd., make for an excellent grass workout. The perimeter of this section, lined by a paved path, is a half-mile long. But I never use the path and never run a measured course. Trust me: Take this opportunity to disconnect and leave the Garmin at home.

Kate Sessions is ideal for the Run like a Kid Workout, cutting up, down and across the park with no rhyme or reason to the direction you're headed. Throw on some minimal shoes, like my choice today, the New Balance Minimus Trail. Run hard for a couple of minutes until you feel that burn in your chest and then run for a few more seconds to make sure it really hurts. Follow it up with a couple of easy minutes, just long enough to catch your breath. And then repeat.

Carefree as a Dog

Running essentials, Shit Kit included.

I will never forget the first time my bowels got the best of me during a run. I can still feel the panic. It was sophomore year of college and I was crushing a 10 miler one day after class. Middlebride Road, along the Narrow River, at the halfway point of my run. The scenario played out just as every runner dreads. No shortcut home. No public restroom nearby. It came suddenly and left me with little choice.

I quickly scanned the scene. There were too many homes and not enough cover. I thought about knocking on someone's door.

Skeptical home owner: "Can I help you?"

Me, soaked in sweat, out of breath: "Let me use your toilet, please!"
Home owner: "No. 2?"
Me, head down: "Yes."
Home owner: "Not a chance, buddy."

OK. Not gonna go there. Time was running out. With each step, my situation became more dire. "Shit!," I thought. And that's exactly what I did. Instinct took over. Behind some trees, just a few feet from the street, I took care of business. Relief!

I finished the run, minus a sock, constantly looking over my shoulder to see if I had been caught in the act. I was part ashamed and part worried I would be arrested for public defecation. But nothing happened, no consequences. Crisis averted.

Little did I know this scene would become a regular part of my life as a runner. My stomach is volatile. Certain foods + high mileage = disaster. Milk before a run? Bad choice, indeed, Ron Burgandy. Anything greasy? Too much sugar? Poop!

Several years and too many such experiences and I evolved. When in doubt, leave the house prepared. A plastic baggy and some toilet paper and you've got, as a former roommate informed me, a Shit Kit. Like a toilet in a Ziplock. It might not provide privacy or the comfort of your home bowl, but at least you can unload, clean up and move on.

Now, as a veteran Pooper on the Run, I usually anticipate when a storm is brewing in my stomach. I know where the restrooms are located. I adjust the route accordingly. Or I stop, squat behind a bush and call upon my Shit Kit to bail me out of a potentially messy situation. No more inhibitions. I'm as carefree as a dog.