About 12 miles into a marathon training run, I felt something damp along my thigh: Either I was sweating profusely or peeing. A quick crotch check confirmed the latter. I was pissing myself. In public. And I could not stop. But I did what any dedicated runner would do—I finished up the last few miles of my workout, wet buns and all.
Fortunately, the running gods were on my side that day. I was sporting black spandex leggings and it was raining, so no one knew I was leaving a tinkle trail through Central Park. But nevertheless, I was mortified—and confused. I was 29, had never given birth, and wasn’t even that desperate for a bathroom. Why had my bladder given up on me?
As soon as I got home (and showered), I turned to Dr. Google. I was relieved to find I’m not the only runner with this problem. One study shows that more than 45 percent of elite female athletes—including runners—experience stress incontinence when they exercise, likely because the repeated impact of slamming your feet into concrete affects the pelvic floor. I’m miles and miles away from elite status, but it’s reassuring to know that top marathoners also #RunWet.
Many runners and other athletes who experience incontinence manage their problems with pads they wear while they exercise or with activewear and underwear that’s specially designed to absorb liquid and mask odor.
Luckily I didn’t have to explore long-term solutions, because the issue seemed to disappear as soon as it started. But four years later, as I’m training for another marathon, the pee problem is back on my mind.
While I haven’t had another Central Park incident, I’ve noticed an increased urge to go, both during and after workouts. I’ve tried doing Kegels to help with the issue, and I should probably schedule an appointment with a doctor, but for now, I’ve come up with a not-so-scientific plan to (fingers crossed) keep me dry during training. I mentally map out public restrooms along my running routes before heading out and then slurp from my water bottle only when dehydration seems imminent (which, I know, is not ideal). I still spend long runs pondering what I’ll do if my bladder revolts yet again during the big race. The obvious answer would be to duck into a porta-potty, but I’ve worked hard to train for my goal time, and stopping could add on minutes.
I’ll likely keep on pounding the pavement while leaking, chafing—all of it—because I know that as I approach that sweet finish line after 26.2 miles, a little incontinence isn’t going to slow me down.