Even faster runners can feel it.
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Around mile 10 of the Every Woman’s Marathon (EWM) in Savannah, Georgia, in November, my goal shifted from racing to the finish line to racing to the nearest porta potty. And then the next porta potty. It was the third marathon I’ve recently run where my stomach rebelled on me.
But instead of stressing over the demise of my race pace—like I had the previous two times—I found myself embracing “party pace.” I high fived as many kids as I could. I pulled out some dance moves at a neighborhood DJ station. I might have even downed a shot of beer in the final mile. (Hey, carbonation can soothe an upset tummy, right?)
