V is for Vexing

We are almost to the end of the alphabet, Dear Reader, and I’m Very unsure what to write about for the letter V. In my post accepting this challenge, I sketched out some ideas for each letter (excepting J and K). My thoughts at the time for V included Vaginas and Virginity. I’m not keen on either one at the moment. Not keen on writing about either, that is.

Instead, I think I will write about things that are Vexing me. The first thing? I keep getting emails from LinkedIn telling me that people want to add me to their networks even though I have 1) deleted my LinkedIn account long ago, and 2) tried (anyway) to log in with the email address to which they keep sending me notifications and get back the message that they have no record of that email address. So then . . . how? How am I getting emails from LinkedIn? If they don’t recognize my email? I don’t understand . . .

Nothing else is Vexing me . . . at least nothing that I can write about. Okay, well, one thing is and I probably shouldn’t write about this, but I must. I’m suffering from a bad case of  “runner’s butt.” There, I’ve said it. The butt is out of the bag. What happens when you run five miles a day for three months in a row? Things get, uhm, problematic. Apparently.

Here’s the deal. When I started going to the gym a few years ago, I went in a cotton t-shirt and cotton shorts. Old School. I soon realized these fabrics were not going to work long term, but I did not want to invest in expensive athletic wear, so I suffered through and did well enough working out for an hour in my cotton clothes. Sure they got heavy and didn’t wick away anything, but I could go home in short order and put it all in the laundry.

But then I got a free lightweight, wick-away workout t-shirt from work and wore that one night to the gym. What a difference. I was hooked. I got some wick-away workout pants and some wick-away socks. I got a new pair of workout shoes. Talk about the right tools for the job. What had taken me so long?

The only part of my wardrobe I didn’t change was my underwear. I mean, yes, I changed my underwear. Of course I did. But I didn’t switch to quick dry or wick-away undies. I didn’t need to. Nothing bad was happening down there. I worked out. I came home. I showered. I laundered. Issue-free.

Same thing when I started running. I loaded up on the quick dry, wick-away shirts, shorts, socks, tights, jackets. Still, I clung to my Jockey cotton underpants. And why not? I didn’t have any issues, still, with down there. I ramped up my runs: 3 miles, 5 miles, 7 miles. Nine miles. Still good. My Jockeys served their purpose—I did not chafe. I did not suffer.

Then I ran 11 miles. Oh. My. What a difference two miles can make. I grabbed the baby powder and applied liberally. I added some Neosporin. But things only got worse. I mistakenly figured that since I wasn’t going to run 11 miles on a regular basis that things would return to normal, but it’s been a week now and things are most definitely not normal. I’m afraid Dear Reader, that they may never be.

So, I bought some new underpants, some that aren’t cotton, and I went for a run, a test drive if you will. My tights fell down! I ran around the lake holding my pants up. Twice. I never in my life thought I would say that my Lycra tights fell down. I mean, seriously—I didn’t even know that Lycra tights could fall off.  But they did—slid right down over those non-cotton panties. I suppose the logical step would be to go out and get a smaller pair of tights, but honestly, my tights aren’t loose, they are just slippery.

The Little Woman thinks I should run commando, but I can’t quite wrap my head around that notion. Seems I’d have issues with seams and such. And I’d feel, uhm, Vulnerable. There’s something safe about underwear, about having that extra layer between my altogethers and the world out there. Seems like it might be a tad, er, breezy.

I have a problem that I need to solve. So, I’ve been interviewing my runner friends about their underwear habits. I’ve been checking out the options. But have you seen the women’s underpants options in the athletic section of, say, Fred Meyers, for example? First of all, there’s only one option. One. Option. The Under Armour “cheeky underwear”? Who are these made for, exactly? Puhlease. These will not suffice. Why is it women get virtually no fabric and men get yards of it?  I mean look at the difference! It’s not right, I tell you.

I’m afraid I am going to have to change my ways and that it’s going to take some trial and error, some investment on my part, some purchases. Some experimentation. So, if you see me running around the lake holding up my pants, don’t laugh. Send baby powder. Stat.


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