I was halfway across the Queensboro Bridge when a not-so-unfamiliar feeling hit me: I had to take a shit. I was 1.5 miles into my run, and I had emptied the tank just before I left my apartment. As I ...

Picture this: You’re in the last 200 meters of a 5K. You’re pushing hard—a PR and possible age group award in sight. You’ve run a smart race—a fast race—and nothing will come between you and the ...