In a moment of desperation, fueled by a desire for a child-free weekend and a creeping sense of impending 40, I found myself signing up for an out-of-town marathon. After a leg injury forced me to reconsider my ambitions, I settled for a half-marathon, which I didn’t mind too much since it gave me the chance to boast about having a “sports-related injury” as if I were a regular athlete.
With my parents watching the kids, my partner and I embarked on what I envisioned as a weekend filled with indulgent food, wine, and a 21-kilometer run thrown in. Normally, I’d rather endure labor again than sit through a five-hour drive through twisting landscapes, but without kids, the trip was a delight. We conversed freely—no complaints, no car sickness, no Wiggles music blaring, and best of all, no snack demands… well, except for my own craving for a Snickers bar, which I happily devoured without having to hide it.
After picking up my race packet and enjoying a leisurely dinner (sans bedtime routines), we experienced a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep. It was bliss, and I began to think that out-of-town races were the way to go.
However, during my customary pre-race bathroom break, I was hit with an unexpected visitor—my period. Just what I needed. While I had packed Band-Aids, energy gels, and my trusty iPod, tampons were nowhere to be found.
After a series of expletives, I explained my dilemma to my partner. Together, we approached the first-aid station, where we patiently waited for a man ahead of us to discuss his chafing. “Do you have any tampons?” I whispered to the first-aid staff. They exchanged bewildered glances, and while they were polite, there was an unmistakable air of confusion. I almost felt the need to clarify, “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are that this is happening.”
Embarrassed and panicking, I scanned the bags of nearby women, hoping to spot a familiar tampon box design. My partner even offered to ask other women if they had any “feminine products,” which I found endearing, yet I was equally relieved when he decided against it.
The absurdity of the situation hit me: Why was I hesitating to shout, “Hey! Does anyone have a tampon?” It’s not like the running community would react with horror. Yet, here I was—a 36-year-old woman, mother of two, living in a progressive country—feeling a wave of shame, as if discussing my period was somehow more taboo than a man’s chafing.
As the race was about to begin, I opted to take a chance, hoping my black running pants would be a suitable disguise. The announcer informed us that “over 60% of this year’s entrants are women!” which only fueled my quiet rant to my partner about how if men had periods, there would be tampons everywhere—and they’d likely be free. But I kept my comments subdued, thanks to that pervasive female shame. (As a side note, I suspect the high number of female participants was due to the course ending at a vineyard. A run that concludes with guilt-free wine is surely appealing).
During the first part of the race, I chastised myself for being so whiny. “You call yourself a feminist!” I reminded myself. “Yes, I am,” I replied, “but I don’t want to make a statement with my cycle like that London Marathon Runner who gained fame for her period!” To clarify, I truly admire those women for their boldness; I just don’t share the same sentiment about my own monthly visitor. Periods have always been a nuisance for me, exacerbating my endometriosis and often bringing disappointment when they arrived, signaling yet another month of not being pregnant. The only times I relished my period were when it allowed me to skip swimming lessons in school or when I accidentally missed my minipill and faced the chaos of having a newborn.
All I wanted was to run a half-marathon, enjoy a bottle of wine at the finish, and not have to worry about crossing the line looking like a horror film character because I was too embarrassed to ask for a tampon. Is that really too much to ask?
Somehow, my body sensed my frustration over the surprise period and decided to cooperate. I enjoyed a beautiful run through breathtaking scenery and even got to cheer for one of my best friends as she crossed the finish line of her full marathon. And yes, we did celebrate with that bottle of wine I had been dreaming about since the race began.
Huge props to my partner, who, while I was jogging through vineyards and olive groves alongside thousands of others, was out shopping to ensure that I had everything I might need. I’m grateful he’s by my side as we raise our daughters to be confident women who will unabashedly ask for what they need, tampons included. For more on women’s health and related topics, you can explore this insightful piece on intracervicalinsemination.org.
In summary, this marathon experience was filled with unexpected challenges, but it ultimately highlighted the importance of communication and support. Embracing both the journey and the struggles can lead to personal growth and a stronger, more confident self.
Leave a Reply