So we did.
Biff and I strapped on the gear and headed to the a greenway we walked part of a couple of weeks ago. This time we started about at the point we stopped last time, hoping to make it down under some RR tracks and a major highway before heading back to the parking lot. On the maps it looked a touch under 2 miles each way, so, about 1.5 hours total walking time (including gawking stops and such).
Easy peasy.
Except...about half a mile into it I got the first hints from my bladder that something was going to need to 'go on' before too long. 'Surely not!' I thought. 'I did my business before we left the house, and it's only been half an hour since then!'
But lo, bladders will have their way, and by the 2-mile mark there was clearly a need to find a facility.
However, and I'm sure you could feel this coming a mile off, there ARE no facilities on the greenway. No toilet, Port-a-potty, not latrine. Not even a nice secluded ditch with a roll of TP on a stick. NOTHING. Not even very many good places to go 'exploring,' (if you get my drift) as the trail sits between the river and, usually, housing developments.
Which is why, if you'd been under a footbridge with me at around mile 2.25 of our walk, you'd have sympathized with me, I'm sure, and turned the other way for a moment as I relieved the pressure.
Or TRIED to.
Because, for those moments under the footbridge, my bladder suddenly became imbued with super-hero strength and NOTHING came out. Not a drop. Oh, I could feel it wanting to, but damn if that sphincter was locked up tight in what I can only assume was a case of 'shy bladder.' Well, that's never happened before, so I gave it a bit, nothing more happened, and that was that. There's only so long a gal wants to be hanging out under footbridges trying to pee, is what I'm saying I suppose.
Once we resumed out walk back to the car, it quickly became evident that the job had clearly not been done under the bridge and it was also becoming clear that it was going to be a LOOONG walk back to the car in the face of mounting pressure in the nether bits. We couldn't walk too fast, or the bladder would jostle, then spasm, and I'd have to pause on the side of the trail in thoughtful contemplation of some bit of nature while the spasms subsided, at which point we could walk again. This went on for about 40 (or 50?) minutes. I think I might have groaned a couple of times, and said a few naughty words more than a couple.(I would have gratefully welcomed even this on the trailside-->)
The situation was getting really desperate. I was contemplating many a tree by the time was were 3/4 of a mile from our destination. By the last half-mile I was convinced I was going to just wet myself and be done with it, but by the last 500 feet fortunes turned a bit and I began to think I could make it. However, the spasms struck once more and by the last 100 paces it was nearly a sure thing I'd be riding home butt-nekked due to having let loose the tidal wave of pee that was sure to break free from my poor beleaguered bladder. By the last 15 or so paces I was doing the peepee dance, hand firmly in place, while carloads of people drove by looking for parking place.
It is hard to walk unobtrusively with your hand in the peepee dance place, but it didn't matter. That hand NEEDED to be there, atl east until I reached the van, at which point I would have been happy to strip off and have at it in the peeing department and not care who saw...
Thank GOD I didn't need to drop trou on the side of the parking lot, though, as Biff had gone ahead and prepared a place for me in the back of the van. A resting place, if you will, consisting of a hurriedly-emptied trash can and just enough squatting room amidst all his band gear to do the deed that needed to be done. One firm roll-shut of the van door and I was peeling off those lounge pants and letting it rip. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
Whew.
Next time we go hiking, this is the plan: I'm just going to put on a Depends and pee at will on the trail. 'Squish your way to Fitness,' I'll call this program. Farther, faster, and longer, through absorbent undergarments, it's the workout program for the very middle-aged lady.
Yep. There's only so many times I want to feel THAT panicked about possibly peeing in public, and that number is exactly once. Wearing an adult diaper is a sacrifice I might just be willing to make.
(BTW - I have the best LOML ever, as he not only got the van ready for me as I hobbled up on crossed legs, he handed me the TP when I was done, then sympathized and celebrated with me as we rolled off from our now suspiciously wet parking spot. Isn't that sweet? I think so)
Hope all is going as well as can be expected for all y'all. Tiff out.
No comments:
Post a Comment