Tell Me Your Deepest, Darkest Secrets

I started back running this week.

Thank goodness! And that sigh of relief is not just from me. I'm a much nicer person when I've been running.

Even the dogs hide from me when I'm not running

Of course I'm not fully recovered but I'm not too bad either. I felt tireder than normal after speed session on Tuesday and there was still the after-glow of the ITB pain that bothered me during the marathon. And my hamstrings were super-tight. So I was glad that I'd had the foresight to make another appointment with my physio.

My physio's been away on holidays with his wife so it was great to catch up on his news while I was being tortured. Hang on - great's probably too kind a word. Interestingly gross is probably more accurate because the only story he told me about his holiday was the diarrhoea one. There was no stories of great places to see in the Phillipines or interesting foods or amazing things to do. There was just a very descriptive tale of projectile evacuation in the Starbucks loos. He's such a good tale teller that I almost felt like I was there.

There was the moment when he realised all was not well. The moment when he couldn't decide whether he was going to chuck or poop. The moment when he realised that he was sweating profusely but he was so very cold. The moment of desperate knocking on the one cubicle door which was locked. The moment when he had to decide whether to use the urinal instead because the cubicle was staying locked. The moment when the fear of being caught bum-out hovering over the urinal was overtaken by the very real threat of making his shorts unwearable. And that moment when the other person did finally come out of the cubicle and they all lived happily ever after. It was kind of like a fairy tale. A very grimm fairy tale.

Earlier that day I'd been running with friends and over coffee one of them reminded me of our first run together and how I'd heard the story of his vasectomy which had happened only four days beforehand. Not that I'd forgotten. That story stands out as one of my top 10 in weird things I've heard on a run.

Those two events got me thinking. What is it about me that makes people want to share very personal stories? Is it that I have a tendency to over-share? Or is it that I can be quiet at times and the quiet disconcerts people so much that they spill all their deepest and darkest? Or is it that I secretly love all that stuff and they can sense it in me and try to fulfil my needs?

I was talking with another friend about it and she has the same thing happen to her. She's a nurse. I used to be a vet. Pretty much nothing grosses either of us out.

So I'm wondering does this happen to anyone else? Do people like to tell you really personal stuff? And what's the weirdest story you've ever been told?