This past Sunday, I was especially worried about leaving Daddy with the boys while I ran the half. To put it simply, Daddy doesn’t do bathroom duty well and Little Ironman’s timing is always terrible. In April, LI pulled out of the Bunny Hop two minutes before the start because he needed to go. In May, the flood gates opened as soon as I finished The Toronto Women’s 5K; LI needed Mommy and refused Daddy’s help. I have since established our race day routine: he uses the bathroom or porta-potty first; Mommy goes second.
But Little Ironman doesn’t do porta-potties well. Who does, really? At the Labour Day 10K, after waiting for me to finish running, and after finally going into one, he refused to use it. At the Turkey Trot, he waited quietly (as quietly as a 4 year old can be) in line but shrieked “EWWWWW!” as soon as he got in. Fortunately, he still went.
This Sunday, I knew that once the runners left the high school, it would be a porta-potty morning for the boys. I also worried that the cold would trigger LI’s need so, at breakfast, I limited his milk to 6 ounces – nothing more.
An hour later, when we got to the high school where the race began, Little Ironman and I headed straight to the Girls’ Washroom. We got into our stall, and I overheard a conversation between a few women next to us:
Gal #1: Oh my. Do your walls have graffiti on them? (I cringed, worrying that my 4 year old was about to hear high school graffiti.)
Gal #2: No, not really. (“Phew” I thought.)
Gal #1: Oh. This one says “Suzy has ugly toes.”
“That’s nothing,” I thought.
And Little Ironman whispered, “Mommy, I bet Suzy is a runner.”
That’s my boy!