5 Most Embarrassing Race Moments

If you've been running in races since the sixth grade, shit happens...literally.

5. I took a year and a half off from running between senior year of high school and spring of freshman year at Colby because of IT band problems...in this time, the most exercise I did was walking from my house to school. When I started running again in January of 2001, I found that I had, surprise, lost all fitness. My first race back, I got dead last in the 400...by five seconds. Five seconds in the 400 meter race is equivalent to at least ten minutes behind in a mile race. It was pitiful and embarrassing.

4. Again, freshman year of college. I attempted to triple jump as I had in middle school and high school. The bounding drills caused me to get incredibly painful shin splints so I would have to pull a "seagull on hot sand": shifting my weight from one leg to the other and then back again. The pain was particularly acute at one indoor meet, so I decided to take some ibuprofen. Well of course the regular dose was not enough...20 pills later I was feeling a bit loopy. At the end of the meet, I jump onto the bus and am ready to head back to Colby. One by one my teammates climb onto the bus and say, "Whose Colby sweatshirt is this?" "Whose Colby tank top is this" "Did someone leave their spikes on the risers" "Who left their Colby sports bra by the track." I embarrassingly kept raising up my hand. Whoops. In total, I had left ~20 items of clothing strewn about the track. It's a wonder that I was still fully clothed. Chalk it up to dehydration. Chalk it up to ibuprofen overdose. Whatever. That earned me the title (and end of season award) for "I-took-so-much-ibuprofen-I-left-all-my-shit-at-the-track-and-apparently-my-brain-too." Definitely felt a bit sheepish after that and stopped triple jumping. NB, my other end of season awards included "The Prime Rib" Award (I'm particularly fond/proud of that one) and the "Full-Body Spandex Suit" Award (let me know if you want to hear about that).

3. Sophomore year of college. I was at a race at Tufts and wicked excited because my whole family was coming out to watch. Before the race, my mom was standing next to me and helping me to take off my warm up clothes. Once down to my race tank and underwear bottom, my mom gives me a good look up and down, smiling in support..until her gaze rests on my neck. Instantly her eyes narrow and her smile transforms into a grimace. "What is THAT?" she barked. "What?" "You have a hickey on your neck! I can't believe it. Don't let your father see this." My hand automatically shoots up to try to cover the evidence. But what are we kidding, you can't hide anything in my skimpy track uniform. I then had to walk proud over to the start line to greet my coaches and teammates. Apparently my mom was correct, my boyfriend must have gotten a little too frisky before the meet, and left a nice love bite for all to see. And everybody did see it. Nice. My sprint coach laughed, my head coach raised her eyebrows, and at least my teammate threw up her hand to give me a high five.

2. In the eighth grade I was an awesome distance runner. I often placed first by a minute or two. At the end of the cross country season, we had a big state meet at Pingree School in Ma. Kids from all over MA were competing in this meet = more competition = more pre-race jitters for Nina. The first half of the race went very smoothly, I was in a solid standing in the top ten and was feeling smooth. Little by little however, I became aware that I had to go to the bathroom...and not just pee, but a full on number two. The race was only 3.1 miles, so I figured I would just hold it in. Unfortunately, after five minutes of holding it in, I started to get sharp pains in the ol' GI tract, pains that turned to stabbings. I had a choice. Pull over to a Jiffy John and lose precious time. Or relax. I mean really relax. Ha. I chose the latter option and just let it go. The results were twofold. On the one hand, pooping in your race bloomers is obviously disgusting. What if some came out and I left a trail of droppings? Oh God. And then there's the stewing. Ah, yes, yuck. But on the other hand, I got rid of the pains, I felt light and smooth again. I was able to kick it in and get 8th place (and a nice little trophy). The embarrassing part was not just the act of defecating in my shorts; the embarrassing part came afterwards when everyone came up to congratulate me. I had to make an excuse and high tail it to the Jiffy Johns (finally) and clean myself up as best I could. Wow. I was pretty committed/insane even back in the 8th grade.

1. Most embarrassing moment ever. May 5, 2007. Broad St 10 mile race. In the two weeks leading up to the race, I had been suffering from a bad case of bronchitis: coughing, wheezing, fevers. Obviously this is not a good way to prepare for a race. I was feeling better by race day and felt compelled to do it because my Dad comes down every year to do it; it's a special event that we share together (though we don't actually run it together). That year my running buddy Melissa and I were running it together. Things were going well at an 8 min/mile pace for the first 7 miles. Around mile 7.5 however, the consequences of the illness started to rear their ugly heads. I got a case of brick legs and my tummy started to act up and I start coughing lots of nice balls of phlegm. Fun fun. I was determined to just keep going, so I threw back some Gatorade and put one foot in front of the other. By the last 200 meters I was feeling like complete crap and my stomach was definitely having a bad reaction to the orange Gatorade. 100 meter mark comes into view and I realize that I'm not going to make it...not going to make it in the sense that I had to pull over and puke on the sidelines. This is unfortunately not the most embarrassing part. Melissa tugs at my hand and says, "Come on, Nina, let's just finish this. It's right over there." Me being masochistic, stupid, stubborn, easily goaded--however you'd like to describe it--totally let her pull me in. I hadn't gone more than 50 meters when I got that queasy feeling again. And oh man, in the last 100 meters, of course the street is jam packed with spectators and worse, CAMERAS. That's right film and video. I'm pleading with myself, "Please, please, please, not now. Not here!" I think that I'm in the clear when I reach two feet in front of the finish line, only to suddenly experience an involuntary heaving. Oh no. As Melissa observes that I'm slowing down and tugs on my hand again, the vomiting commences. Not just any kind of spew...uncontrollable projectile vomiting (and what was the culprit--uh huh, the orange Gatorade). In front of hundreds of people and, oh yes, right into the cameras (only five feet in front of me and I was projecting the Gatorade at least three feet. Impressive?). Yes, so what's my awesome race photo from that year? That's right, they caught the projectile vomit on camera. And not after the fact; as it's coming out of my mouth. OMG. Grossest (and, come on, it's a bit hilarious too) moment ever.

As I was writing this post, I realized that I have many embarrassing moments (none so disgusting as that last one, thank goodness). These ones are the first that came into my head. I haven't even gotten into the wonders (and pitfalls) of marathoning. Perhaps another time.