Since junior varsity swimming ended, I’ve been going to the gym regularly. I’ve lost a few pounds, gotten a little stronger and feel better about myself. I’ve gotten my weight down to my previous heaviest from last year, which is sadly an accomplishment. My big boy problems are still quite persistent: shirts are too tight and the ass-seams in my pants are still ripping – even my new pants. On a good note, I’ve been eating less fast food and following Life’s Highway’s suggestion of subtracting one fatty thing from what I normally eat (i.e. no sour cream on tacos, no French fries, etc.).
My new problem is that my thighs chafe when I run. While I don’t run far, I’m run-walking for 45 minutes. Between my stupid Shuffle ear buds falling out of my ears and my gut hitting the stop button on the treadmill, I don’t need an uncomfortable stinging between my legs to boot. (By the way, the second to newest iPod Shuffle is the biggest scam in the world. The only way it works is if you have THEIR headphones… er… earbuds. Also, what’s the difference between the old Shuffle and this one? The shape is the only difference. I hope Apple starts reading my blog, so they know how annoyed I am with them.) It’s like the cosmos are plotting against me by throwing every obstacle known to man at me. Next thing you know, I’ll have to run on a treadmill with no TV playing what I want to watch or, even worse, have to run next to that guy that always talks to me.
As I was having a beer and watching the football games two weekends ago, it crossed my mind: football players have big legs. How do they avoiding this annoyance? And then it hit me: eureka! Their pants are slippery! The next day I went to the gym eager to try out my new slippery plan. I applied a copious amount of lotion between my thighs to create the needed viscosity. It worked for a minute or two but quickly became slightly uncomfortable and then really uncomfortable. It felt like the lotion was creeping into off limit crevasses. So I went home and actually looked it up on the internet. Apparently, people wear things called compression shorts when they run. Compression shorts became my new obsession. I researched and researched and found the right pair. When I put them on, it felt like a whole new, funky world had just been opened up to me. My legs were touching but they slid right by each other as I ran – as if in perfect harmony. Some people call them bicycle shorts, but my wife is just immature. Now instead of the uncomfortable pain of chafing, my legs just make a smooth sound like a spandex grasshopper preparing to make love.
My compressor shorts are most prized possession now, and I treat them delicately. I refuse to wash and dry them with my inferior other clothes, so I wash them separately. My wife has graciously showed me how she washes her brassieres (wow, spelled that right on the first try – everything has been coming up Johnny lately!). Now, when I go to bed, I create nice, little hot bath for my compressor shorts in the sink and wash them with the tenderness of a mother using special bra soap.