Every week, you can submit your personal, embarrassing stories for a chance to get them featured in our column! We will find the Silver Lining, and you won’t have to live in shame anymore. Instead of a horrific moment, it will be a happy one.
Here’s this week’s story:
When I was a freshman I was running a 200 meter race for track. I still had a chance to make Districts- but only if I won the race with a PR of at least 3 seconds…you can tell I was pretty stressed. By the time I was adjusted in my blocks, I was almost ready to puke. Track was very important to me—I HAD to win the race. I HAD to get a PR. I HAD to make districts!
The starter was preparing his pistol, and the crowd was deafening. I swallowed sick down my throat, and tried not to cry. And before I knew it, the man had raised his gun to the sky. I twisted my toe into the red track, my spikes squeaking defiantly.
“ON YOUR MARK!”
A tear slipped from my eye.
“GET SET!”
My stomach clenched, and I wanted to throw up.
BAM!! The gun went off and I exploded from my blocks, all signs of bawling and upchucking gone like the wind through my hair.
But something was wildly wrong. My gut was bubbling. And then, five seconds into the race of my life, I pooped.
“AAAAAAAAGHHHH!” I screamed, and, wobbling, flung out my arms so I wouldn’t fall. But I didn’t walk off the track. I kept running.
All of a sudden, the screaming crowd had disappeared, and so had my streaking-by competitors. All I saw was a brightly-lit, beautiful EXIT sign:
The finish line.
When I finally managed to cross that wretched line, I couldn’t bear to look at the giant timer signalling my time. Luckily for me, they announced it.
“Forty-five seconds!” The announcer boomed, and the ground was looking very interesting now. There were men telling us to stay in our lanes until our times and names were recorded, but my stomach was threatening to send more junk out of my mouth, so I ran for it, hopping the fence and avoiding all fans wanting my signature. (There were none.)
Finally I reached the bathroom. There were four people in line before me. I contemplated shoving them all aside, claiming I was a princess from Britain, but ultimately decided to wait, politely, hopping from one foot to the other like some deranged Zumba dancer.
Ten minutes later, I was in, and all my worries were gone. I bet heaven felt like that. Pure bliss.
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Now, here’s my response:
Wow. Um, wow.
Every runner dreams of making history on the track. Most imagine a shiny medal or a personal best. You? You secured immortality for… well, different reasons.
From the starting line, you were ready. The gun fired, and so did your digestive system. Yet- like a true competitor- you didn’t bow out. You crossed that line in 45 seconds flat, then executed the fastest bathroom sprint the stadium has ever seen.
Now, where’s the silver lining for all this? Let me count the ways.
First, you finished. That’s perseverance and grit. Anyone can run on fresh legs- only legends run on sheer willpower and questionable fiber choices.
Second, you’ll never be forgotten! There are a million average 200m times, but only one person who turned the track meet into a cautionary tale.
Third, you gave every runner instant gratitude: suddenly a pulled hamstring or bad start seems like a luxury problem!
And here’s the kicker: after this, you’re unstoppable. Test tomorrow? Nerves of steel. Public speaking? Please!! Once you’ve pooped mid-race in front of an audience, nothing fazes you.
We found the Silver Lining for this story- and we’ll find it for yours, too! If you want to be in the Talon, enter yours now!