About a mile or so out, the rumblings began -- mildly uncomfortable, but nothing to be alarmed about. Then, at the greatest possible distance from home, it hit. With the force of a freight train. It was as though my motion was an earthquake, provoking an avalanche that cascaded down my intestines and piled furiously at my back door. I knew it would be uncomfortable -- painful, even -- but I thought that I could make it. I *had* to make it.

My run slowed to an awkward hobble, and the three miles left in my route stretched into a veritable marathon.

Despite the best defense that I could muster, a small force squeezed through my clench. My body had sounded a warning: "Take care of this NOW, or suffer the consequences."

I veered off my path and frantically searched for an appropriate spot (the term "appropriate" being applied rather loosely). Stumbling through the brush, I grabbed two handfuls of suitably-sized leaves and settled upon my location, which was hidden from any passing cars but clearly visible to anyone who happened to be enjoying the path running perpendicular to my route. Nevertheless, I dropped trou and took care of business, thoroughly wiping with the leaves I had chosen.

Like a criminal fleeing the scene, I furtively scanned the perimeter, making sure that the coast was clear. Satisfied that I was free from any prying eyes, I made my way back to the road.

The run home was awful. I was constantly worried that my body's aforementioned warning was bleeding through my shorts and/or running down my leg (which was, of course, not the case). Outside of that, though, I could think only of getting into my house -- more specifically, my bathroom -- to rid myself of the mess caused by my digestive system's cruel joke (however hilarious it may have been).

When I finally arrived home, I went to the bathroom straightaway. After a preliminary cleaning, I stepped into the shower to wash and rewash -- and rewash! -- until satisfied that the muddled mess of sweat and excrement, and perhaps a layer or two of skin, was removed from my body.

Once content with my level of cleanliness, my mind was free to consider other things -- like the itching that had developed around the wiping area. "You did NOT just wipe your ass with poison ivy," I screamed at myself. Of course I didn't. "You know what poison ivy looks like right? Right?!? Three leaves... green... smallish..." What am I, a fucking boy scout?

Well folks, it turns out that I did NOT know what poison ivy looks like -- a fact confirmed by a Wikipedia search moments after leaving the shower. All I could do was laugh. "The next few weeks are going to suck," I thought.

And they did.