When I used to run...
I find nothing more attractive than a bunch of men, covered in sweat, running in a race altogether. I know. I rate up there with Kim Catrell when she starred in the 70's spoof of Porky's, where she would steal boys' sweat socks and hoard them to sniff. I can't help it. I grew up in the 70's and listened to Jim Fixx and all the runners and how running gave them a natural high, toned their bodies and improved their endurance. I also dated athletes in both high school and college and loved watching their muscular, yet sinewy bodies pass by me on the field or the track. Hear the young girls sigh or squeal as they passed and beam because they were "mine". So, it was in high school that I decided that I would begin to dabble in this sport/exercise called running. I mean, how hard could it be? Just put one foot in front of the other and move your body; right? Wrong!
Running, while becoming an obssession of mine early on, was always painful and difficult while I was doing it. You see, I'm knock-kneed and therefore, no matter how thin I was, my thighs have always rubbed together. Try running a 5k for the first time wearing cute little running shorts. I remember the day well. The race started out at the local community college and extended down beautiful country roads to end at a large park, filled with people cheering and over seers giving out water along the way. People stood in their yards, eager to drench you with the hose as well.
The race started out great for about 15 minutes, then I felt a burning sensation between my legs and realized that my thighs were on fire. I tried spreading my legs and running like a frog for a while but that didn't work at all. It only made my feet hurt. I tried pulling my shorts down a bit but didn't want to expose my back end so that wasn't an option either. If someone had put a match between my legs, they could've lit it! I felt a rash begin to develop and blood begin to ooze down my inner leg. Not to mention that I turn as red as a beet when I exercise heavily, I can only imagine the sight I was as I hobbled down the road.
After the first mile, I was tempted to stop. The pain was excruciating. I don't know if any skin was left on my thighs at this point. I stopped worrying about it because after feeling pain like that for what was now 25 minutes, my legs felt a bit numb. Each time I began to think about stopping, my running pals would circle back around (they of course had already finished and came back to see where I was) and cheer me on. I smiled at them and showed determination although I truly wanted to cry and jump on their strong backs and hitch a ride to the finish line.
An hour later, I arrived with the police escort at the finish line, blistered and bloodied between the legs and I'm sure horrifying mothers of pre-teen girls assuming I was on the rag and they not wanting their daughters to witness the horrors of menstruation and the most inopportune times the "man with the red glove" could come to visit.
I about passed out when I finished and laughed with my friends about finishing. I only wanted to put cotton between my legs and crawl into a dark, quiet room. I think I wore jeans that next week, even though the temps were in the 80's.
I learned quickly that shorts and I didn't mix when I ran. Also, when one's thighs rub closely together, the material in your pants begin to bunch up into your crotch, creating a grotesque kind of camel toe. I learned to wear long, baggy t-shirts to hide this condition.
By early college, I was running 5k's almost every weekend with my then marathon runner boyfriend. He of course would finish in less than 20 minutes and then come back to run back with me. I would cut off sweat pants at the knee and by the time I finished the race, they looked like shorts because of the sweat and bunching of material.
How I envied those ladies with the long, thin thighs that ran with me, who expressed that they didn't know what I meant when I complained about starting forest fires with my legs.
After running throughout college and experiencing a lot of pain doing so, I was walking to class and fell. No reason. Just hit the ground. The doctor tried to explain to me that I had the body was that born to bare children and that walking was a better option for me. It may stop the stretch marks in my large bosoms and stop the pains in the rest of the parts of my voluptuous figure. Walking? Never occurred to me. So, since that visit to the doctor's office, I have walked. I still feel pain sometimes because of foot issues but I haven't produced heat between my legs, my boobs don't ache after a workout and I have less of a chance of blackening my eyes!
I still bring in the police escorts at the end of the races and sometimes, I even come in before other people. I don't care...I'm outside, enjoying the moment and I still get to appreciate those sweaty men in little running shorts at the same time!
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