I have a large friction burn on my inner thigh and I can't close my legs.
Not, I'm afraid, quite as exciting as it first sounds (if it ever did sound exciting).
You see I have decided, in a moment of insania, to attempt (note the 'attempt') to run a Half Marathon. This is to raise money for the Hospice that took such wonderful care of my dad and it's not til next year so (I am assured) even I will be able to do it.
Lets just saying running is NOT my forte (those of you who were at school with me may recall me deliberately forgetting my PE kit in order to get out of Cross Country Running only to be forced to run barefoot. As if this was not shameful enough, I tried to cut short my humiliation by cutting across a compost heap and, tragically, sunk deeply into it).
I was going to keep this running part of my life secret (even I have to draw the line at some point with regards to public humiliation) but, hell, it seemed like a waste of a rich seam of comedy because, let's face it, me trying to cover 13 odd miles is going to have comedy elements.
Anyway the training has started and this morning I went to the gym to grind out a few meters on the treadmill......
That's right - I am now a gym bunny.
Well, less of a bunny, more of a Giant Lop.......
(No I don't know who the guy in the blue shirt is, no he's never had his hand between my legs and NO he is not the source of my friction burns).
Anyway I pounded the treadmill good and hard, leapt off, towelled down my sweat glistening body, chugged back the cool water from my sports bottle and......
...and noticed a searing agonising pain centered on my inner thigh. A pain not unlike many wasps stinging me or, in fact, a small localised fire breaking out.
I dropped my towel and water and, in full view of all the bods grinding away on the cross trainers, started to frantically inspect my crotch.
There I found, not a forest fire, but a large split in my left-leg legging . My thigh was poking out the hole and what with the fact that I don't have a gap between my thighs, for every step I'd taken, that bare thigh had ground against the nylon seam of the opposite legging. Again and again and again.... (and a few more agains as I managed more than 3 strides).
Ow.
At this point I realised I couldn't close my legs. At all. Now I'd stopped moving the pain had hit and I really could not let my legs touch eachother.
Like John Wayne after a hard 2 day ride I hobbled, legs akimbo down the stairs towards the safety of home, breathing heavily through the pain.
Everyone stared.
I got to the locker.
I realised I'd left my headphones plugged in to the running machine.
Struggled up the stairs again.
People were glancing nervously, clearly concerned I'd either suffered a horrendous muscle tear or wet myself (or given the heavy breathing, maybe a birth was imminent?).
I (eventually) made it to the car.
I then realised that I HAD to go to Asda. Not only did we have no milk or bread but also we were on our way, very shortly, to a child's birthday party and I had no card and no present.
I gritted my teeth and set off.
Resembling one of those lizards that runs very strangely on hot sand with it's legs sticking out at jaunty angles, I made it round Dairy Produce, Baked Goods and Plastic Tat for 4 year Old Girls (now there's a frightening aisle) and to the tills whilst not allowing my scorched flesh to meet it's nylon nemesis. I didn't get too many odd looks because, in Asda, walking like you've got a hedgehog in your pants doesn't get you special attention. This is a place where anything goes. Just the other day I saw a woman covered in random, very bad tattoos, including one of a man's Y-Fronts. I did ponder for some time why you'd want a pair of blokes' undercrackers forever ingrained on your left breast but, to be honest, my head started to hurt so I stopped.
I managed a shower (painful), a wee (yes, painful) and some clothes (yup, more pain) and went to the party where I sat very, very still for a very, very long time.
And now I'm sat here, with my PJs on, legs nicely spread, Savlon cooling on my thighs, wondering how the hell I'm going to come across in the school playground tomorrow and then later at work where I need to ask my boss for a character reference....
All this, and as yet, I can only run 1 mile.
This could be, erm, painful.
Not, I'm afraid, quite as exciting as it first sounds (if it ever did sound exciting).
You see I have decided, in a moment of insania, to attempt (note the 'attempt') to run a Half Marathon. This is to raise money for the Hospice that took such wonderful care of my dad and it's not til next year so (I am assured) even I will be able to do it.
Lets just saying running is NOT my forte (those of you who were at school with me may recall me deliberately forgetting my PE kit in order to get out of Cross Country Running only to be forced to run barefoot. As if this was not shameful enough, I tried to cut short my humiliation by cutting across a compost heap and, tragically, sunk deeply into it).
I was going to keep this running part of my life secret (even I have to draw the line at some point with regards to public humiliation) but, hell, it seemed like a waste of a rich seam of comedy because, let's face it, me trying to cover 13 odd miles is going to have comedy elements.
Anyway the training has started and this morning I went to the gym to grind out a few meters on the treadmill......
That's right - I am now a gym bunny.
Well, less of a bunny, more of a Giant Lop.......
(No I don't know who the guy in the blue shirt is, no he's never had his hand between my legs and NO he is not the source of my friction burns).
Anyway I pounded the treadmill good and hard, leapt off, towelled down my sweat glistening body, chugged back the cool water from my sports bottle and......
...and noticed a searing agonising pain centered on my inner thigh. A pain not unlike many wasps stinging me or, in fact, a small localised fire breaking out.
I dropped my towel and water and, in full view of all the bods grinding away on the cross trainers, started to frantically inspect my crotch.
There I found, not a forest fire, but a large split in my left-leg legging . My thigh was poking out the hole and what with the fact that I don't have a gap between my thighs, for every step I'd taken, that bare thigh had ground against the nylon seam of the opposite legging. Again and again and again.... (and a few more agains as I managed more than 3 strides).
Ow.
At this point I realised I couldn't close my legs. At all. Now I'd stopped moving the pain had hit and I really could not let my legs touch eachother.
Like John Wayne after a hard 2 day ride I hobbled, legs akimbo down the stairs towards the safety of home, breathing heavily through the pain.
Everyone stared.
I got to the locker.
I realised I'd left my headphones plugged in to the running machine.
Struggled up the stairs again.
People were glancing nervously, clearly concerned I'd either suffered a horrendous muscle tear or wet myself (or given the heavy breathing, maybe a birth was imminent?).
I (eventually) made it to the car.
I then realised that I HAD to go to Asda. Not only did we have no milk or bread but also we were on our way, very shortly, to a child's birthday party and I had no card and no present.
I gritted my teeth and set off.
Resembling one of those lizards that runs very strangely on hot sand with it's legs sticking out at jaunty angles, I made it round Dairy Produce, Baked Goods and Plastic Tat for 4 year Old Girls (now there's a frightening aisle) and to the tills whilst not allowing my scorched flesh to meet it's nylon nemesis. I didn't get too many odd looks because, in Asda, walking like you've got a hedgehog in your pants doesn't get you special attention. This is a place where anything goes. Just the other day I saw a woman covered in random, very bad tattoos, including one of a man's Y-Fronts. I did ponder for some time why you'd want a pair of blokes' undercrackers forever ingrained on your left breast but, to be honest, my head started to hurt so I stopped.
I managed a shower (painful), a wee (yes, painful) and some clothes (yup, more pain) and went to the party where I sat very, very still for a very, very long time.
And now I'm sat here, with my PJs on, legs nicely spread, Savlon cooling on my thighs, wondering how the hell I'm going to come across in the school playground tomorrow and then later at work where I need to ask my boss for a character reference....
All this, and as yet, I can only run 1 mile.
This could be, erm, painful.
As a sufferer I need to point out 2 things. One, gyms are evil. Two, it is going to be worse tomorrow. Sorry. XO
ReplyDeletesquawking with laughter...
ReplyDeleteBrilliant.
ReplyDeleteThe post, that is, not the 'injury'.
Ouch.
LCM x
A fantastic goal but sorry about the injury (even if your description did make me laugh out loud!).
ReplyDeleteDitch the lycra and go for sweats!
Sue xx
Eeew - sounds sore - but aren't you glad things are funny in hindsight?! (well, your readers are!)Virtual Savlon wending it's way through the ethosphere to your glowing parts...x
ReplyDeleteI have felt your pain and can offer a solution - vasaline, both to heal and before any future runs!
ReplyDeleteYou won! (The MADS, that is - I just checked their site). Fantastic!!! What will you spend your John Lewis vouchers on?
ReplyDeleteI hope John Lewis have big tubs of Vaseline.
ReplyDeleteSorry - I seem to be obsessed with the
Oh that went well. Was going to say that I seem to be obsessed with the security code word thing, tried to look up the actual phrase so I wouldn't come across as a total spaz, and got published mid-thingy. Good with words me. What is my point? Yes, your 'Word Verification' for the above comment was 'lithe' - which I thought was very funny at the time, but now I just need to go somewhere dark and quiet and hope someone finds me in the spring...
ReplyDelete