In the throes of a mid-life crisis and a desperate need for a child-free escape, I impulsively registered for an out-of-town marathon. After injuring my leg, my ambitious plans shifted to completing a half marathon, but I took solace in the fact that I could now claim to have a “sports-related injury,” as if I were a seasoned athlete.
With my parents kindly looking after my children, my partner and I set out, envisioning a weekend filled with indulgent meals and a 21-kilometer run. Typically, I’d dread a lengthy car ride through winding roads, but without little ones in tow, the trip was blissful. Our conversations flowed uninterrupted, free from complaints, car sickness, and the incessant demands for snacks. Well, aside from my own request for a Snickers bar, allowing me to enjoy chocolate without hiding it in my handbag.
After picking up my race packet and enjoying dinner without the usual bedtime routine, I reveled in a full night’s sleep and realized that out-of-town races were a delightful escape.
However, as I prepared for the race and ducked into the portable toilets for a pre-race restroom break, I was met with an unwelcome surprise: my body had decided to grant me an unexpected period. My bag was packed with band-aids, energy gels, and my iPod, but not a single tampon could be found.
Frustrated, I confided in my partner, and we sought help at the first-aid station. As I stood in line, I watched in disbelief as the attendant assisted the person ahead of me with an array of options for chafing. When it was finally my turn, I quietly asked if they had any tampons. The attendant, caught off guard, turned to her colleague, and they exchanged bewildered whispers about the lack of feminine hygiene products. I felt an overwhelming urge to explain my predicament: “It’s day 17 of my cycle; I’m just as surprised as you are.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I scanned the bags of nearby women, hoping to spot a familiar flip-top box of tampons. My partner gallantly offered to ask others nearby for “feminine products,” and while I appreciated his willingness, I couldn’t let him endure that humiliation.
The absurdity of the situation hit me: why was I hesitating to shout out, “Does anyone have a tampon?” It’s not like fellow runners would exclaim, “Unclean! She’s cursed! Ban her from our midst!” Living in a developed nation, I found it disheartening that I felt more comfortable discussing a man’s chafing than a woman’s natural cycle.
With the race about to begin, I decided to take the plunge and rely on my black running pants to get me through. The announcer piped up, noting that over 60% of the participants were women, which only fueled my frustration regarding the tampon shortage. I muttered to my husband about how the world would be different if men experienced periods—there would be free tampons everywhere. Yet, I kept my tirade quiet, burdened by the shame we often associate with female bodily functions.
As I ran, I confronted my own grievances and reminded myself of my feminist beliefs. Acknowledging the struggles I had with my cycle in the past, I simply wanted to complete the half marathon, enjoy a celebratory bottle of wine, and not worry about crossing the finish line in a potentially embarrassing situation.
Fortunately, my body seemed to heed my mental protests about the unexpected period, allowing me to appreciate the stunning scenery and witness one of my best friends finish her full marathon. Together, we celebrated with that long-awaited bottle of wine, savored after enduring the grueling run.
A shoutout goes to my partner, who, while I was among thousands of runners, went off to gather supplies for any unprepared lady. I’m grateful that he’s a supportive teammate in raising our daughters to be confident women who can unapologetically ask for what they need.
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In summary, my marathon experience highlighted the absurdities of societal taboos surrounding menstruation, while also emphasizing the importance of supportive partners and the joy of pursuing personal challenges.