I don't, generally speaking, experience chafing. Sure, part of my bra has rubbed a bit on the longer runs. And then there was the time when my shirt crept up on a long run and put a pretty raw patch through my early 2000's era tramp stamp. But, by and large, this is not something I think of all that often. Frequent enough to be empathetic, but not sever or often enough to be something that rules my every waking thought. Until last week.
It was gloriously warm. Achingly warm. Holey underwear batman I might actually need to wear shorts warm. And that, my dear readers, is when the trouble began. After a few indoor runs and a bad case of the "out of laundry soap, too lazy to buy mores", I found myself with only one pair of clean shorts. A skimpy, skin tight pair that looked pretty amazing 10 pounds ago and I now can only wear in public because runners have no shame. Or skin....
I got back from a not-great-but-not-lousy cutback mileage week run and hopped into the shower. OH MY GOODNESS. The good news is that evidently I shriek "Owie" like a three year old when experiencing first shower post run chafing pain instead of a torrent of 4 letter words. At some point it occured to me that my neighbors might mistake the "oh, oh, oh" echoing from the shower for joy instead of the one man pain extravaganza. Because I am singularly bad-ass when facing raw flesh, I managed to get the area soaped and rinsed well.
I jumped out of the shower and look a look for myself. Sure enough, slightly smaller than a quarter (and feeling larger than life), was a ragged raw hole where my skin should have been.
Hello, first chafed wedgie. I hate you. You will be funny later.
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