Why I Don’t Pee in my Wetsuit

As a general rule of thumb, I do not pee in my wetsuit.

Nothing against those who do [ahem, Kirsten], it’s just that once (many years ago) when I was surfing, I decided to let the wizz fly and very quickly realized it was trapped – TRAPPED! – in my suit.

I could feel my own warm piss tickling my neck and slowly creeping into my hood. *shudder*

I realize surf wetsuits are more constricting than triathlon wetsuits, but due to that slightly traumatic incident of nearly having my own piddle in my ear, I have always remained firmly on the anti-pee side of things.

This past weekend at the Victoria Half, as I anxiously waited in the water for the start, I realized I had to go. I knew it was likely just a “nervous pee” and would probably go away, but I didn’t want to take my chances. So, standing there, waste deep in water (surrounded by my competitors, hehe, sorry), I broke my rule and let a few little trickles of urine out of my bladder. It never touched my neck (yay!) and seemed to flush out of my suit rather quickly.

Overall, it was definitely a much less traumatic experience than the “surf wetsuit of horrors” and made me rethink my anti-pee position.

Fast forward to Wednesday.

After work I met Kirsten and Shane at Thetis for a swim. I was running a bit late due to traffic, and while I had to take a leak, I didn’t want to hold them up any longer, especially since Kirsten had limited time.

So, I figured “Hey, I’ll just pee in my wetsuit once we get in the water. It wasn’t that gross when I did it the other day.”

Wrong. So very WRONG.

I now have a clear understanding of why I need to maintain my “no pee in wetsuit” rule… but before I share that reason, let’s back up a little shall we?

At work we have a silly rule that if one person is in the bathroom, you need to wait your turn until that person returns before you go (even though there are multiple stalls). Most people in the office don’t really care if you have to pee side-by-side, but we have one very pee-shy coworker (she knows who she is, haha) so we all try to respect this rule.

So, a couple of weeks ago at work, I had just gone into the washroom when pee-shy coworker then entered as well. I jokingly called her out for “breaking the rule” and then we both entered our respective stalls and began to pee (almost at the exact same time). Pee-shy coworker finished up, washed her hands and exited the bathroom before my bladder was even half drained.

When I reentered the office she joked “You’re not only a marathon runner, you are also a marathon pee-er.”

Of course, it was then my turn to offer up some fun (and very useful) trivia, and so I let her know: “It should take at least 12 seconds to empty a full bladder.” [I had recently read that somewhere, I don’t know if it is actually true].

Later that afternoon, pee-shy coworker returned from the loo declaring “6 seconds!” at which point my competitive nature took over, and I realized I now needed to get the stopwatch out and see how long it took me to tinkle.

So, on my next trip to the can, I popped a squat, checked my watch and began to go.

12 seconds passed. 24 came and went. Then 36. I finally finished up at a nice round 45!

Since that day, I’ve clocked more than a few 45-50 seconds efforts, and even recorded a whopping 1:07 PR (and these are only the times I actually looked at my watch… I’m pretty sure I’ve gone longer).

[I should add, I never feel like I’m going to burst and I’m not holding it in. I like taking trips to the washroom throughout the day as it gives me an excuse to go for a little walk from my desk and stretch my legs… I think I just have a really really large bladder].

So, back to Wednesday.

Standing chest deep in Thetis Lake, I decided to break my rule once again and take care of business.

I began to pee. It was warm, but I was confident it would magically flush out of my wetsuit without having to feel it anywhere but on my legs.

But, seeing as my bladder is roughly the size of a 7-Eleven Double Gulp, and I typically wizz for longer than it takes most people to drop a deuce, the pee didn’t stop.

Of course, I wasn’t actually timing things, but I’m pretty sure 12 seconds passed. 24 definitely came and went. Most likely 36 and even 45.

Soon that familiar warm liquid had engulfed my legs, overflowed up through my armpits and was slowing dancing down to my wrists, and *gasp* my piss was once again even circling my neck. I recognized that feeling, and I didn’t like it. Thank goodness triathlon wetsuits don’t have hoods.

And so, lesson learned. The “no pee in wetsuit” rule has been firmly reinstated.