June 23 - Race Against the Latrine

Misgivings followed by regret followed by nervousness followed by The Fear followed by Terror like the panicked feeling you get when you turn too suddenly on icy roads and lose control of your car.
That's me, that's the last three seconds of my life, give or take. I'm in the middle of a run, miles from home in Tokyo, and I have just realized that I have to shit.
Bad.
And it's going to be explosive, I can tell.
Oh, God.
Oh my dear God.
I'm--I'm in big trouble. Seriously, miles from home. And it's not rapping gently at the back door. It's pounding. It wants out now.
My instincts send me conflicting impulses: Make a desperate run for it.
NO! Stay as still as possible, contort my body and talk it back from the ledge.
I alternate between both.
I do a pathetic hunched-over run whose posture will be familiar to anyone who's ever been in the same desperate situation, and I keep this up as long as I can until it feels like the dam is moments from bursting, and then I stop, suddenly sick with terror that I've miscalculated.
I twist my body and dance a bit while paradoxically trying to remain absolutely still. I'm sweating but it's not from exercise. Concentration. Focus. If someone so much as says my name, the game is up. I look up and down the street for public restrooms, sympathetic office buildings, empty alley ways, but there's nothing. I'm on my own.
The turmoil subsides and the crisis is averted, but I know it won't last. It's like I'm the second to the last teenager alive, hiding in a closet, and Jason is checking the room next door and he'll be here soon. And the second to the last teenager doesn't always make it to the end of the movie. Sometimes, yes. But not always.
But now I feel safe enough to run again. And I know that doing so is only going to piss my bowels off. It's like my digestive tract already had an awful day at work, and now I'm flirting with his girlfriend right in front of him. What I mean is I'm seriously tempting fate by running again, but I've played this game before and won. I know what I'm doing. The key is getting my ass home as soon as possible.
I eat up the blocks and use the red lights to my advantage, taking dance and contortion breaks to keep the demons at bay, and it's working so far, but it can all fall apart at any moment. The time between contortion breaks is getting shorter.
But I'm close. I can see my building, but I won't let my guard down, hell no. That's when they get you.
OK, here we are. Just up this last hill to my apartment and--
FUCK!
I stop on a dime because Oh My God, it's coming. I clench every relevant muscle, grab my crotch, and arch my back like I just took a bullet from a sniper and I pray that the no shitter I've been riding for the past three decades plus doesn't come to an ignominious end.
It passes and I creep my way into my building, and I barely make it into the elevator before the doors close. There are two other passengers. One presses the button for the second floor, the other for the third, and I hate them, I hate them, I hate them for not taking the stairs, the miserable worthless sons of bitches, and the elevator arrives at the second floor, and they keep talking, and the one getting off holds the door open and keeps the conversation going and I know that parting is such sweet sorrow and I know there are so many things you never got the chance to say today but for the love of God and all that is holy WOULD YOU PLEASE GET THE MOTHERFUCK OFF THIS ELEVATOR!?
And we're moving again and I'm dancing now, and I don't even care anymore, and we're on the third floor, and the guy's about to say something, but quite possibly for the first time in his life he understands what's happening, he gets off quickly, he even hits the door close button, and I want to thank him but I can't because I have ever fiber of my being locked in on the task of keeping things intact just a little bit longer.
Fourth floor.
Fifth.
Sixth.
I'm here. Home. I open my door. Here it is. Sanctuary.
But no, wait. Japan. Shoes off in the house. I don't dare lean over. I kick at them, fling them off, but they're stuck, and it's not working but now they're finally off and I'm in tears, because ladies and gentlemen we have started our descent, there's no turning back now, and I can only delay the inevitable a few more seconds as I rip at the draw string on my shorts, pull everything I have down to my ankles, and hit the seat at the exact moment all gastrointestinal hell breaks lose.
I make it.