In a frantic quest for a legitimate excuse to enjoy a child-free weekend, coupled with a bit of a pre-40s meltdown, I found myself signing up for a marathon in a neighboring town. After a leg injury forced me to scale down my ambitions to a half marathon, I was surprisingly okay with it; I reveled in the idea of sporting a “sports-related injury” like a seasoned athlete.
With my parents graciously watching the kids, my partner and I embarked on what I envisioned as a weekend filled with indulgent dining and a 21-kilometer jog sprinkled in for good measure. Typically, I’d rather endure childbirth than a five-hour car ride through winding roads, but sans children, the journey transformed into pure bliss. We engaged in uninterrupted dialogue, with no whining, no vomit, and most importantly, no Wiggles music blaring in the background. The only snack request came from me, as I insisted we stop to grab a Snickers bar, allowing me to relish chocolate in the car without the need to duck my head into my bag.
After collecting my race packet and enjoying a guilt-free dinner (with no bedtime routines to worry about!), we savored a full night’s sleep. I concluded that out-of-town races were absolutely the way to go.
However, as I made my way to the portable toilets for my customary pre-race jitters, I was hit with an unexpected period—just to keep things interesting. My race essentials included Band-aids, energy gels, and headphones, but shockingly, I had no tampons.
Frustrated, I turned to my partner, Mark, and we ventured to the first-aid station, where we patiently waited for the man ahead of us to receive advice for his chafing dilemma. When it was finally my turn, I discreetly asked the first-aid woman if they had any tampons. Her bewildered look suggested that such requests were not the norm. “Um, we don’t really have… that sort of thing,” she stammered, glancing at her colleague. I almost felt compelled to explain, “Look, it’s day 17 of my cycle, and I’m just as shocked as you are.”
Embarrassed and in a bit of a panic, I scanned the bags of women nearby, hoping to spot a familiar box of tampons adorned with those cheerful designs that make menstruation seem fun and cute. Mark even offered to ask nearby women if they had any “feminine products,” which made me love him even more—while also knowing I couldn’t let him take on that awkward task.
The ridiculousness of the situation struck me: why was I hesitating to shout, “Hey! Does anyone have a tampon?” It’s not like the other runners would suddenly shout, “Unclean! She’s cursed! Someone banish her for the next week!” I live in a developed country where women gained the right to vote long ago, I’m 36 years old, and a mother of two daughters—but here I was, blushing with shame over something so natural. If only we could talk about periods as easily as we discuss a guy’s chafing issues!
As the start gun prepared to fire, I decided to take my chances with my black running pants and hoped for the best. The announcer excitedly declared that “over 60% of this year’s entrants are women!” This only fueled my quiet rant to Mark about how if men had periods, there would be an abundance of tampons everywhere, and they’d be free. But of course, I kept it hushed, adhering to that pesky feminine shame.
During the first leg of the run, I chastised myself for being overly dramatic. “You call yourself a feminist!” I thought, but then quietly whimpered back, “Yes, but I don’t want to make a statement with my period like that lady who knit with yarn from her vagina!” Though I must say, I genuinely admire their boldness. I’m not a fan of periods and won’t pretend to be; they worsened my endometriosis as a teen, and every month in my early 30s brought tears as I realized once again that I wasn’t pregnant. The only time I appreciated my period was when it saved me from swimming during school or that one occasion I forgot my minipill while my second baby was still waking up numerous times at night.
All I really wanted was to complete a half marathon, enjoy a bottle of wine at the finish line, and not have to worry about crossing it resembling an extra from a horror film! Is that too much to ask?
Somehow, my body sensed my frustration over the surprise period and managed to ease the situation, allowing me to soak in the breathtaking views as I ran. I even had the chance to cheer on one of my best friends as she crossed the finish line of her full marathon. And yes, we did indulge in that bottle of wine I had been fantasizing about since ten minutes into the run.
Extra kudos go to Mark. While I was jogging through beautiful vineyards and olive groves alongside thousands of others, he was off shopping, preparing to meet me at the finish line with everything an unprepared woman might need. I couldn’t be happier that he’s my partner in raising our daughters to be confident women who won’t hesitate to ask for a tampon when they need one.
If you’re curious about more insights on home insemination or related topics, check out this link for more information. Also, for those looking to boost fertility, you might want to explore this resource. And for anyone interested in understanding IVF better, this site offers excellent information.
Summary:
This humorous account explores the author’s experience participating in a half marathon while dealing with an unexpected period. Amidst her embarrassment and frustration, she reflects on societal norms surrounding menstruation and the importance of communication. The story ultimately celebrates the joy of running, supportive partnerships, and raising confident daughters.