He is an excellent runner. He is an exceptional runner. He has run the Dragons Back and the Spine. 

I ran with him around Sale Water Park in South Manchester one night. I was new to running. I didn’t have a headtorch or any trail shoes. He told me he’d lend me some. It was me, him and one of his running friends. I was in some strange running tights, his headtorch and a pair of his shoes.

As soon as we started running I was immediately at the back of our three. I knew it was going to be a bad night. He hadn’t told me how far we were running. Even five kilometres would be too much at this rate. Within five minutes I became aware that it was not just me that was flagging. The batteries in the headtorch he’d lent me were definitely on their last legs. I was running in their fading torchlight.

Why when I run do I always feel like the motion dislodges something and make me immediately need the toilet? Is that a known phenomenon? Is it everyone or just me? 
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes. Whatever I’d eaten before the day of this run wasn’t helping. Thirty minutes in I confessed to desperately needing a toilet break and asked
“Reckon I can hold it? Are we nearly done?”
We were not. 

He gently encouraged me to head off into the woods to do my business while they ran a short loop. I confessed again:
“I have no tissue”.
“Take this”.
He handed me the Buff neck warmer he had on. Mortified I shuffled into the undergrowth.

My headtorch was so dim now. I found my spot and began my undertaking. The (very tight) running tights I had on were quite a restriction on me so I took a shoe off and one of the tight legs. That helped me get a better position and feel a little more comfortable. I concluded.

The Buff was a write-off. I moved to try and get my leg back through my tight leg. I managed to just get it through and stumbled in the dark as I stepped with my socked foot into what I’d just left on the floor. I needed to put that foot back into his shoe. The panic set in heavily now.

I discarded the sock, of course, and placed it with the Buff. I covered the soiled set with some leaves and put my barefoot back in the shoe. Their headtorches were approaching. I ran back to the reservoir and stepped down to give my hands a rinse. It was deeper than expected. I had completely submerged my bare foot in a shoe too big for me that I was going to have to return to this man at the end of this awful run. I might never run again. Why would I?

I was less tired for the remainder of the run. My mind was preoccupied:
Do I stink?
Did I just wipe my butt with his Buff?
How on earth can I explain not having a sock?

In the end I didn’t explain. The run ended a good while later at around 10 miles. I took his shoes off. One socked foot, nice and dry. I stood there as I took my blistered bare foot out of one soaking wet shoe, thanked him for lending me them as I put on my own shoes back on, walked for the tram and headed for home.

Not a good night.