A story went viral this week about a woman in Colorado who keeps pooping on her neighbors’ lawns. And let’s just say it: This story is, at least at first glance, totally insane.

According to KKTV 11 News, “The Mad Pooper” has been caught defecating on her neighbors’ lawns mid-run (where, gasp, children can see her in action!). But the crazy part isn’t the inopportune timing of her squat popping, it’s that it seems like it might be intentional—at least that’s the story the media is running with. Neighbors say she “comes prepared” with napkins, making it seem as if she’s setting out on her runs with a plan to poop wherever she pleases—just not in the nearby public restrooms, they claim.

Now, I’m not here to defend this woman. How can I, or anyone, when no one knows what’s really going on in this very strange case? She really may be going on her daily runs with the intention of pooping on the sidewalk or next to a neighbor’s mailbox—and yes, that would be weird, inappropriate, and totally uncool. But as a runner with Crohn’s disease—an inflammatory bowel disease that, among other things, makes me at times unable to control my own bowels, my first thought upon seeing this headline was, “Oh my god, being the subject of this story is my greatest fear.”

This content is imported from YouTube. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.

When my disease is flaring, there are days when I can’t even get out the door, let alone go for a run. I’m pretty much chained to the bathroom. But when I do make it out to run, I’m so grateful and downright giddy—until I’m suddenly not. That’s the thing about Crohn’s: It can strike when you least expect it. And when that happens, my intestines go from totally chill to totally explosive faster than you can even think about where the closest available restroom may be.

If you've ever been period shamed, you'll want to watch this video:

Like the mysterious “Mad Pooper,” I, too, run with napkins, paper towels, toilet paper, or baby wipes, just in case. I don’t run with these things because I’m planning to use them. I run with them because I’ve learned to be prepared.

And like the “Mad Pooper,” I, too, have been known to shimmy out of my spandex so I can relieve myself in places I would really rather not relieve myself. Those places are definitely not limited to convenient public restrooms or race course porta-potties. Instead, my extensive list of places I’ve pooped on a run includes a sketchy porta-potty on the side of the road in Hawaii, a less sketchy (but still not ideal) porta-potty on a construction site on someone’s front lawn in the Hamptons, and behind a porta-potty in the Catskills because said potty was locked. (Rude!) I’ve scurried into a bush on the side of a busy road in Utah, I’ve ducked behind a tree in Central Park because the bathrooms weren’t open yet, and I’ve gone underneath a footbridge on a trail in Burlington, VT. Once, I had to run into the woods when I was on a run during a visit to see my parents in New Hampshire, and as I finished up and emerged from the woods, my high school prom date happened to drive by—and stopped to ask if I was okay. And in the very worst, most embarrassing case, I’ve gone in my pants.

Just a few weeks ago, I was attempting a run in Central Park when my Crohn’s kicked into gear. I immediately ran for the closest bathroom, but the line was seven people deep and I couldn’t wait. So I bolted into a museum next door, begged the museum attendant to let me use the lobby bathroom, and was denied. “You can’t use the bathroom unless you buy a ticket,” she explained, as I burst into tears because I was terrified I was going to have an accident in the middle of the Guggenheim, and I was pretty sure that no matter how Jackson Pollock-like it would look, I wouldn’t be able to pass it off as “art.”

Every single time I go to the bathroom somewhere that’s not a designated bathroom, I am filled with shame, anxiety, and the fear of getting caught or, far worse, going viral for getting caught. In an age where everyone is armed with a cell-phone camera, I am terrified of someone seeing me going to the bathroom in an unapproved place, then snapping a photo or video, and posting it for the world to see, LOL at, and comment on. I feel enough shame for the inconvenience this disease causes; the thought of being publicly shamed is paralyzing.

The single greatest thing I’ve found in sharing my Crohn’s story is that so many runners have poop stories. That, to me, is the greatest comfort in the world. Because until you’ve pooped your pants—or come really, really, ridiculously close to it—you just don’t get it.

(Rather work out at home? Dance your way fit with High-Intensity Dance Cardio, the first-ever socanomics DVD!)

So runners, I urge you: talk about poop! It’s only “gross” because we say it is. The reality is, poop is just another bodily function. Is it sexy? Nah. Is anything about what happens behind bathroom doors—or, uh, on someone’s front lawn—particularly Instagram-worthy? No, of course not. But we all do it. I promise. Every single person I know poops. Some of us do it when we don’t want to, where we don’t want to.

I can’t speak to the case of The Mad Pooper, but I will say this: Be kind. If you see someone having a mid-run accident, consider looking the other way—because one day, you, too, may eat a burrito that doesn’t agree with your stomach, and you may find yourself in a non-bathroom bathroom situation.

This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io