Typical.
6 miles into my 12 mile run yesterday and I start to struggle with the urge to shit my pants. Imagine my joy at finding, after resisting the impulse to unload all over myself, that my wife had gone to visit her Mum, leaving me locked out the house for 45 mins.
To top it all off, once I had made it into the house, my eagerly anticipated mega-dump turned out to be nothing more than a smelly fart.
I just couldn't take the risk. Moral of the story - don't go out running on a poached egg roll.