Squeaky bum time
Hola peeps.
I am glad not to be writing this on a plane and only reason that’s not the case is ‘cos I was crazy tired on flight from the UK last week. Spent only 6 days there for Chief’s 80th birthday party and it was a blast, though stressful. Ace seeing most of the family too.
Returned to Juba last Thursday, was supposed to host a board meeting on Friday, then travel to Khartoum the day after for a series of meetings, but the meeting in Juba was postponed and the recent protests put paid to the Sudanese trip. Amazing what people power can do and here’s hoping the Sudanese folk get a more people-friendly leadership. Sadly, the recent events in Algeria and Sudan won’t convince other sit-tight leaders to abdicate, if history is any indication. They always assume they are untouchable. The punks. Back to my travels….
Got in on Thursday, unpacked, went out to eat, returned home and zzzzz. Was too tired Friday morning to do HIIT and had already decided I would skip kickboxing lessons this weekend in order to rest. As I hadn’t done any exercises in almost 2 weeks, I agreed to meet up with some running mates yesterday morning before returning home to zzzz. Surprisingly, I woke up early enough, slipped on my 0.5kg ankle weights and commenced running. Had done about 35 mins when I started getting doodle pangs. Uh oh. Maybe I need to provide some background first to put things in perspective.
You see on the morning of 24th March I failed to listen to my bowels and nearly pooped myself while running. To be honest I did more praying than running and didn’t help that last stretch of the run up a steep hill. My normal sequence involves a 5-minute walk from my crib to starting point, run from there to the traffic light by the Juba airport, run up a steep route back to start point, then do the 5-minute walk back home. Before I left the house that morning, I felt doodle pangs but thought I could manage it through the run as it typically takes about 30 minutes. Surely, I could hold on for half an hour, right? WRONG. Didn’t help that in the past I’d try stretch how long I can hold poop for before going to the loo, in order to set a self-imposed target. What can I say, Juba gets a bit boring so I try to look for things to beat the monotony. I usually do my poop holding thang when I know I am not too far from a loo and assumed I was on familiar territory prior to the run two Sundays ago.
Got to the airport traffic light okay and waved to the other runners I saw. It was then, when I was furthest from the crib, that stomach rumblings became more animated. Uh oh. I contemplated stopping by a mate’s house to use the loo but didn’t wanna embarrass myself, so I stupidly soldiered on. Reduced my pace and started reminding God of all the good acts I had done the week prior and how He had to see me through this moment of intense trial. Finished the run under extreme duress and now it was time to take the 5-minute walk, of what I have since dubbed the Long Walk to Freedom (after the travails of another great man), back home. Took off ankle weight on left leg and saw I could walk faster, but when I tried to repeat the same for the right leg I almost popped one out while attempting to unstrap the Velcro around the ankle. I stood back up s-l-o-w-l-y, shuffled home and once I got to the compound I was forced to clasp left palm over butt and do a penguin waddle up two flights of stairs until I unlocked my apartment, flipped up the toilet lid – I no longer close it – and sat on the plastic seat so hard I permanently wedged it to the left, then unleashed fire and fury from my innards. As I let rip, I silently prayed none of my neighbours were looking outta their windows as I walked up the stairs. As it was a Sunday, I went to church after regaining composure and doubled my usual offering as thanksgiving to God for preventing me from messing up in public. Returned from church and ate every dry thing I had at home to prevent me from accidentally going during kickboxing class later that day. Ate so much popcorn my pee smelled like freshly roasted corn. Following that incident I started sitting on loo even when I pee on the off chance poop arises ex nihilo.
Fast forward to yesterday when the scene almost repeated itself, except this time I was with nine other persons when the stomach issue started, and as was so far from crib I had to take a boda boda home. Didn’t even bother negotiating with the dude and could see the shock on his face when I paid him more than twice his fare. Pounded on gate to be let in, then spent valuable time trying to get my house keys off the female security guard that seemed to be angry about something. Thus, by the time I got to foot of stairs I couldn’t hold it anymore and felt a splat in my shorts. This time there was a neighbor outside and glad I didn’t know her so there was no reason to chit chat. Again, cupped left palm over shorts and repeated the penguin walk to apartment door. Fondled with key for a few seconds and ran into bathroom without shutting apartment door behind me. Musta sat on the loo for 30 minutes while going over meals I had on Friday to see if there was pepper in any of them – there wasn’t – and why I had no warning doodle pangs prior to going running. After the last incident I had sworn to myself I’d never risk a run/walk/crawl if I ever felt any tummy rumblings, and I stuck to that, so how come stomach acted up this time? After fully relieving myself, I crawled to bed and thanked God I attended boarding school as I could wash off stain from underwear and shorts prior to Harriet’s arrival on Monday. If same happened to any of my nephews would they know what to do, seeing as they have washing machines at home and are typically pampered? Reminds me of Martin, a dude from Southampton I met at Bradford university, who didn’t know how to iron his clothes ‘cos his mom always did it for him back home.
Okay, so enough on the workings of my bowels. Wait, just saw Indian neighbor who calls me “Steel man”, or that’s what I reckon he says in his thick accent, whenever I see him at the gym. Now he referred to me as Happy Feet. Drats, he musta seen me yesterday or two Sundays ago. Wait, the neighbor I saw at foot of the stairs yesterday is his wife! She musta told him what happened. Shit….literally.
Tot ziens and God bless.
I am glad not to be writing this on a plane and only reason that’s not the case is ‘cos I was crazy tired on flight from the UK last week. Spent only 6 days there for Chief’s 80th birthday party and it was a blast, though stressful. Ace seeing most of the family too.
Returned to Juba last Thursday, was supposed to host a board meeting on Friday, then travel to Khartoum the day after for a series of meetings, but the meeting in Juba was postponed and the recent protests put paid to the Sudanese trip. Amazing what people power can do and here’s hoping the Sudanese folk get a more people-friendly leadership. Sadly, the recent events in Algeria and Sudan won’t convince other sit-tight leaders to abdicate, if history is any indication. They always assume they are untouchable. The punks. Back to my travels….
Got in on Thursday, unpacked, went out to eat, returned home and zzzzz. Was too tired Friday morning to do HIIT and had already decided I would skip kickboxing lessons this weekend in order to rest. As I hadn’t done any exercises in almost 2 weeks, I agreed to meet up with some running mates yesterday morning before returning home to zzzz. Surprisingly, I woke up early enough, slipped on my 0.5kg ankle weights and commenced running. Had done about 35 mins when I started getting doodle pangs. Uh oh. Maybe I need to provide some background first to put things in perspective.
You see on the morning of 24th March I failed to listen to my bowels and nearly pooped myself while running. To be honest I did more praying than running and didn’t help that last stretch of the run up a steep hill. My normal sequence involves a 5-minute walk from my crib to starting point, run from there to the traffic light by the Juba airport, run up a steep route back to start point, then do the 5-minute walk back home. Before I left the house that morning, I felt doodle pangs but thought I could manage it through the run as it typically takes about 30 minutes. Surely, I could hold on for half an hour, right? WRONG. Didn’t help that in the past I’d try stretch how long I can hold poop for before going to the loo, in order to set a self-imposed target. What can I say, Juba gets a bit boring so I try to look for things to beat the monotony. I usually do my poop holding thang when I know I am not too far from a loo and assumed I was on familiar territory prior to the run two Sundays ago.
Got to the airport traffic light okay and waved to the other runners I saw. It was then, when I was furthest from the crib, that stomach rumblings became more animated. Uh oh. I contemplated stopping by a mate’s house to use the loo but didn’t wanna embarrass myself, so I stupidly soldiered on. Reduced my pace and started reminding God of all the good acts I had done the week prior and how He had to see me through this moment of intense trial. Finished the run under extreme duress and now it was time to take the 5-minute walk, of what I have since dubbed the Long Walk to Freedom (after the travails of another great man), back home. Took off ankle weight on left leg and saw I could walk faster, but when I tried to repeat the same for the right leg I almost popped one out while attempting to unstrap the Velcro around the ankle. I stood back up s-l-o-w-l-y, shuffled home and once I got to the compound I was forced to clasp left palm over butt and do a penguin waddle up two flights of stairs until I unlocked my apartment, flipped up the toilet lid – I no longer close it – and sat on the plastic seat so hard I permanently wedged it to the left, then unleashed fire and fury from my innards. As I let rip, I silently prayed none of my neighbours were looking outta their windows as I walked up the stairs. As it was a Sunday, I went to church after regaining composure and doubled my usual offering as thanksgiving to God for preventing me from messing up in public. Returned from church and ate every dry thing I had at home to prevent me from accidentally going during kickboxing class later that day. Ate so much popcorn my pee smelled like freshly roasted corn. Following that incident I started sitting on loo even when I pee on the off chance poop arises ex nihilo.
Fast forward to yesterday when the scene almost repeated itself, except this time I was with nine other persons when the stomach issue started, and as was so far from crib I had to take a boda boda home. Didn’t even bother negotiating with the dude and could see the shock on his face when I paid him more than twice his fare. Pounded on gate to be let in, then spent valuable time trying to get my house keys off the female security guard that seemed to be angry about something. Thus, by the time I got to foot of stairs I couldn’t hold it anymore and felt a splat in my shorts. This time there was a neighbor outside and glad I didn’t know her so there was no reason to chit chat. Again, cupped left palm over shorts and repeated the penguin walk to apartment door. Fondled with key for a few seconds and ran into bathroom without shutting apartment door behind me. Musta sat on the loo for 30 minutes while going over meals I had on Friday to see if there was pepper in any of them – there wasn’t – and why I had no warning doodle pangs prior to going running. After the last incident I had sworn to myself I’d never risk a run/walk/crawl if I ever felt any tummy rumblings, and I stuck to that, so how come stomach acted up this time? After fully relieving myself, I crawled to bed and thanked God I attended boarding school as I could wash off stain from underwear and shorts prior to Harriet’s arrival on Monday. If same happened to any of my nephews would they know what to do, seeing as they have washing machines at home and are typically pampered? Reminds me of Martin, a dude from Southampton I met at Bradford university, who didn’t know how to iron his clothes ‘cos his mom always did it for him back home.
Okay, so enough on the workings of my bowels. Wait, just saw Indian neighbor who calls me “Steel man”, or that’s what I reckon he says in his thick accent, whenever I see him at the gym. Now he referred to me as Happy Feet. Drats, he musta seen me yesterday or two Sundays ago. Wait, the neighbor I saw at foot of the stairs yesterday is his wife! She musta told him what happened. Shit….literally.
Tot ziens and God bless.
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