The IBS Diaries Vol. 5: Blizzard Beach


Another week, another flood of emails in my inbox from people all over the world who regularly poo their pants. Thanks again to everyone who has been telling their story. If we’re all in this together then we won’t feel so alone. This week, we have an entry that involves a water park setting. Bathrooms tend to be scare at water parks, but it’s always a quick clean up if you don’t beat the clock. Also very easy to pin a Code Brown on someone else if that’s what has to happen. I’m curious as to what other IBS familia think about getting hit with the 2 minute warning at a water park, so let’s see what our guy Nate does at the world famous, family friendly, Blizzard Beach.

What’s up DC.

IBS has been haunting my family for generations. It’s so bad that I’ve got designated emergency shit stations at every exit on my 45 minute commute to work and you better believe that I’ve (s)hit them all, but that’s beside the point. The reason I’m reaching out is because I think I got a solid diary entry myself.
Having emergency shit pit stops is essential in this life. To any rookie IBS’ers, do a quick bathroom blotter on your way home from school/work one day to really analyze all your options. You always wanna choose a low-key bathroom where not many people will see you Kool-Aid Man it through the door. They have to be restrooms that don’t require a purchase, a key attached to nunchucks, or god forbid a buzzer. 90% of accidents happen during that time.

The year is 2000. I’m bout 9 years old. The family is down in Orlando at ESPN Wide World of Sports for my brother’s baseball tournament, watching them get their tits lit by every southern team they face. We’re from Michigan. Just ain’t the same game. After multiple days of ass-whoopings, the parents decide to take us all to Disney’s top water park, Blizzard Beach, to lift our spirits. We get there. Half a day goes by and we’re having the time of our lives. We decide to take a break from our fun to enjoy an American classic, a funnel cake. Fried dough with powdered sugar. Now, Idk what sets off your IBS. If it’s anything greasy, spciy, lactose, gluten, or edible…I’m fucked.

So not 30 seconds after smashing the funnel cake, we decide to head back out.

The 15 minute wait between eating and swimming rule should actually be treated as law for people with IBS.
Blizzard beach is essentially a man-made mountain. The highest slide is Summit Plummit (120 ft) which isn’t far from where we’re headed. We get about half-way up the mountain and the two-minute warning kicks in.

We have ourselves the grace period. Let’s lay down 9 year-old Nate’s groundwork for him.

Potential witnesses:“I start hauling it. I get about halfway down from where I was and I run into my brother and his teammates.” I don’t have an older brother, but I’d be mortified to shit myself in front of him or his teammates if I did. That’s a story that gets brought up until every one of them dies. Never wanna have an accident in front of people you’ll be seeing the next day in general.

Pants situation: Bathing suit. Easily the best pants to shit yourself in. The cleanup is cake. Only thing is your legs are still exposed.

Current from of transit: Having to walk in a “No Running” zone. Sucks but you still gotta obey the law.

Nearest restroom:“The nearest bathroom is not only at the bottom of the mountain, but it’s about a mile from the base of the stairs (at least from a 9 yo with IBS perspective).” And if push comes to shove, the beach.


When I run into my brother and his teammates they ask:

“Where you goin?”
“I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Just go in your suit.”
I’m 9 years old. My brother is 13. This guy’s one of my heroes at the time. If he says it’s cool, then it’s cool. Besides, the pressure is almost unbearable at this point.
I’m gonna give Nate’s brother the benefit of the doubt and say that he assumed Nate had only had to pee, but if you’re 9 years-old and looking for guidance during the grace period like this then you NEED to specify if it’s a number 1 or 2. Apples to oranges.
I get to the bottom of the stairs, and I give up.
Quick moment of silence.
I release my cheeks, expecting a perfect two-tapered shit (s/o George Brett) to loaf into my suit. Then, I could simply dump what’s there into the toilet and life goes on. But OOOOOHHH NO! This was pure. hot. lava. I panic, burst into tears, and start crying for my mom. She’s nowhere to be found. No one I know is close. At this point, it’s running past my suit and down onto my bare leg. I kneel down in the sand and try to cover it up. BB employees see me crying and try to help, but I run away embarrassed into the nearest bathroom. I run into the stall. BIG mistake ahead. I clean up what I can, but my suit is still stained brown from the funnel cake stew. In attempt to get rid of the stain, I take the suit off, and dip it in the toilet. Big brain. Eventually I find my ma. She comforts me, leads me to the showers, and buys me a new suit. Freakin angel.
9 is a tricky age to shit yourself—tons of kids are doing it, but it’s also more traumatic on your young mind. Definitely a character builder.
Been about 20 years since that happen. Haven’t had an accident since, but I’ve had more close calls than I can count. IBS is the worst. Appreciate your blogs, man. Hope you enjoyed the story.
We appreciate you sharing your story with us Nate. As always, if you or someone you love has either shit or come close to shitting their pants, email me your story at or @DannyJConrad on twitter. Keep fighting the war.