As a fat person blessed with IBS I am constantly in mild gut pain. It's better since I semi-retired but being clogged up and gloomy for it is my norm. That combined with muscular-skeletal malformation that left me a foot shorter than I should be with malformed fingers (short) and feet (flat) means I am a grump who is always sore.
But now and then comes an event in toilet town that goes down a treat. The post-spasms fire for about thirty minutes then stop and for a couple of hours your guts are absent of pain.
I was riding through Canberra when the spasms stopped kicking in and I fully re-lived the experience of immediate relief (even with argle after-glow) as I was gliding my electric pushie across the newly-laid tar of decent public cycle-pathing.
"Fuck me," I said through my mask—we're in lockdown until mid-October—over and over as my mid-section felt lightness and nice. Nice for the sudden eye in the fecal storm that is my motions of bowel.
Nature is amazing; it gives you the power to feel part of it all—and there's nothing like a null-space in your gut that is not firing pain to make you feel connected to rest of the universe.
My body, working badly since est.—but at least for a moment I copped a breather.