Emergency on the Race Course

It was about mile 6 when I really had to go. The thought of stopping my clock and going into a port-a-potty on the side of Highland Avenue wasn’t my idea of a good time, but you know what they say?
When you gotta go, you gotta go.
And really, I HAD TO GO!
Easy enough, huh?
I walked right in, there was no line like at miles 2 and 4. Did my thing. Used the hand sanitizer.
Opened the door.
Opened the door.
Opened the…
OH MY GOD, THE DOOR WON’T OPEN!
OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED?
OH MY GOD, THE LATCH ON THE OUTSIDE IS LOCKED.
WHOOOOOO LOCKED ME IN HERE?
WHY ME?
WHYYYYYYYY?
So I was able to push the door open just enough to see out.
I could see a cop directing traffic at the intersection. Only he was a good 50 yards away.
This is when I realized that apparently port-a-potties are freaking soundproof because I was yelling and screaming for somebody to LET ME OUT I’M STUCK IN A PORT-A-POTTY WITH OTHER PEOPLE’S SHIT FLOATING AROUND IN BLUE WATER.
Breathe, Jana.
Time’s ticking. My time was getting longer and longer each second.
I pushed the door open again, about 1/2 an inch.
Somebody’s coming.
OH MY GOD, SOMEBODY’S COMING.
CAN YOU HEAR ME?
HELLOOOOOOOOO
HELLLOOOOOOO
I’M IN HERE. LOOK OVER HERE. BEHIND YOU. I’M STUCK.
HELLLLLLLLLLP MEEEEEEE!
She looked towards the port-a-potty like there was somebody freaking out inside and for a split second I thought she wouldn’t let me out.
But she did.
I was freeeeeeeeee.
Fresh air. Breathe. I took a second to realize that I, in fact, was going to live.
My death certificate will not say (at least this time) “Death by asphyxiation in a port-a-potty.”
And then I went and finished running 9.3 miles.
Boom.