I always have to pee at the gym. I think it’s probably my body’s last-ditch excuse to get out of pain, like some kid who didn’t study for his math test and would rather get caught unraveling toilet paper and get sent to the front office than stay in the room and sweat. I did that once.
But this kind of torture is different because I’m doing it to myself- is this how grown-ups behave? I ask myself this as I’m holding it as long as I possibly can because pausing for a potty break will throw off my whole workout. I’m not supposed to stop running for another six minutes.
I’m actually considering adult diapers when this like ten-year-old kid comes in and skids into the bathroom on those stupid little wheely shoes that save exactly zero seconds from just walking like a normal person. I don’t even think about it but then suddenly I’m in the bathroom loudly pontificating to the mirror that “THOSE WHEELY THINGS REALLY SHOULDN’T BE IN THE GYM, I’M SO GLAD NO ONE HERE IS THAT INSENSITIVE TO THE RULES WHICH ARE IN PLACE FOR THE BENEFIT OF OTHER PATRONS.”
There’s a flush and I feel a panic like my guts are about to explode down my leg but the little cretin just rolls her eyes and says “Get over it” and I certainly will not. So I march straight to the check-in desk and announce to the first person I see standing there that there is a rule-breaker on the premises and could they please get her out of here because she’s ruining my concentration. And this pimply guy is just staring at me all buggy-eyed and says “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
And I look down and of course I’ve lost it on the linoleum and I just point at the kid and yell “JUST LOOK WHAT SHE MADE ME DO!”
And you know what? They escorted her out.