The ground feels sturdy and strong as I step onto shore realizing how long it has been since we took a break- must have been hours ago.

It’s cold out, a brisk spring day paddling in Ontario: icy water, chilly air, and maybe even a little snow now and then

We pull into a large eddy for lunch and begin unloading boats, pulling out food and sweaters that we desire for our time on shore. We’re passing items from sterns to bows while people are slowly wobbling out of their canoes, legs unsteady.  After kneeling for so long in the boat my ankles begin to throb with searing needles as the blood flow returns.

As the sensation and feeling creeps back into my body like fog clearing on an early morning, I realize my bladder is getting rather full. Dropping my bag and water bottle next to everyone’s belongings, I quickly venture off for “a quick pee.”

Making my way for the tree line, I pass a few of the guys who have unzipped their drysuit flies, with backs to the group, already  peeing into the trees.

With a sigh of envy and needing a little more privacy than that, I duck under a few branches and head off into the woods. 

My bladder continues to fill more with every step.

Unfortunately, I have yet to splurge on the fancy women’s drysuit with the zip off bottom drop seat. The type that makes going pee a breeze, where you don’t have to remove all your layers.

No, instead, this will be a bit more of a mission than simply unzipping my fly.  

I almost resent those who are already peeing with ease.

My bladder begins to ache with urgency.

Pulling off my neoprene mitts and swinging my arms, I attempt to get circulation back into my fingers, like pins and needles, they are both numb and burning.

However, there isn’t time to wait for them to warm up.  Fiddling with my PFD buckles I continue walking while undoing the clips and loosening the straps around my waist.

Finally, stopping out of sight of the group, it hits me like a tsunami, I suddenly realize how very badly I actually need to go.

I start doing that little dance.

Everyone knows the dance, whether they recognize it or not; it’s improv and for whatever reason seems to help.

My numb hands still poorly attempting  to thaw, struggle with the side clips of my PFD.  With bloodless fingers and their snow white finger tips I try pulling the PFD over my head only to realize, all too quickly, it’s not loose enough!

Struggling to shimmy it back on, in order to properly undo it, I find myself trapped in darkness with my head stuck within. I am really dancing now, the urgency increasing the tempo of my steps. Groaning aloud with the wet fabric pressed against the cheeks of my face, I curse this vexing suit and my useless hands!

 My seemingly endless struggle continues….

In frustration I lean over trying to get gravity to help me, but the PFD continues to persistently put up a fight.

Until finally, I manage to get it up over my face and dangling off my arms.

It thuds to the ground, in surrender. 

There is no time for relief from the struggle. as I am now panicking that I won’t make it!

After the exertion of relentlessly wrestling with my gear, I may just let myself go and pee where I stand.

 Fortunately, I manage to keep it together.

My breath is coming out in long controlled exhales, as I’ve heard pregnant women practice, they may be onto something.

My frozen fingers feel like claws, now gripping frantically at the zipper high up on my right shoulder.

It feels impossibly high for these ineffective stubs to get at.

I feel like I could laugh or cry, but know neither is going to help me hold this bladder together for much longer. 

Grabbing at the zipper, both hands together like an alligator’s mouth, I pull.

It drags angrily in protest along the zipper teeth, eventually giving way. Full panic is upon me now, my dance becoming a frantic jig.

I can only imagine how ridiculous this must appear.

Biting cold raindrops fall with big squelches, making a cold day even more bitter. Regardless of this new wet onslaught from above, I pull my head through the neck gasket, tearing at my hair and loosening my braid to something barely recognizable, but finally, I am free!!!

Removing my arms, and pulling this prison off my chest I manage to get my long underwear down.

At last, I pee.

Glorious and long.

I pee. 

Relief is upon me and I revel in it.

I squat there even after I am done exhausted and sweaty.

The rain dampening my dry under layers, newly exposed to the world. 

I squat there taking in the smell of the freshly dampened woods. 

I squat there….

 and realize I have peed all over the inside of my drysuit splayed out before me. 

I squat there, feeling vanquished.

 I am utterly and embarrassingly defeated but at least my bladder is finally empty.

 I can take my time picking pine needles out of my hair and rinsing the inside of my suit with river water as my under layers get soaked by the rainy assault of spring.

I don’t even care anymore…

It feels good to be moving slowly.

I return to the group with their unaware smiles and clueless chatter. I am in my drysuit again and no one has even the slightest idea, about the ordeal I have just been through.

 I keep this story to myself. I’ll laugh about it later, but not quite yet. Maybe one day I will even share it.