Chafing, Scrilla & A Bag Of Mission Rounds

Somewhere around the 5K timing mat, I realized I'd chosen poorly.  My running tights had begun to slip and that area where your leg meets your rear-end had begun the dreaded tango of chafing horror.  And there were still 10 miles to cover before I crossed the finish line.

I haven't stepped on a scale in a couple months.  I've been in denial, and the scale gods have actually conspired with me to remove my curiosity as the batteries in my scale are dead.  AND I'm too lazy to walk to the freezer, pull out four triple-A batteries, pick up the scale, turn it over, open the battery hatch, take out the batteries, throw them away, put in the new batteries, replace the battery hatch cover, check that the scale memory has retained my info and then put the scale back in its spot in my closet.  Now that I've written all that out, I feel VINDICATED...that's just TOO MUCH to ask from a fragile person such as myself!

Despite the dead batteries, the other reason I've not put effort into checking my weight is that the scale isn't reporting ALL the facts.  Do all my workouts, get good sleep, stay hydrated and eat the way the dietitian says, and there's no weight loss.   That makes me sad.  Thus validating my desire to consume an entire bag of Mission Rounds in one sitting (it can be done if you put your mind to it!).  

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BUT my clothes tell a different story.  I've had to buy new jeans.  The old ones had become lower rise than what they were designed for (even with a belt).  The tri shorts I run and ride in are no longer comfortable because the areas that used to be covered by padding, are no longer existent (buh bye stores of fatty fat fatterson).  So the useless.  Even my wonderfully comfortable  ISM saddle has caused some discomfort/need to go back into Tri Shop and get a fit adjustment.  And in anticipation of a major scrilla ('scrilla' means 'money' for those of you not in the know) outlay, my poor credit card is currently ingesting imaginary Clonazepam to muffle the anxiety of having to rebuild my huge stock of training clothes (mostly my shorts/swimsuits and tights), a sickeningly expenseive undertaking

My hereditary fat pattern gain is in my rear and in my thighs.  So guess where the fat is now falling off....mmm hmmm, that's right, you were paying rear and my thighs.  And here's the thing, it's not like I can lube up body parts in anticipation of the chafing.


Because who knows where you're gonna chafe because you're wearing clothes slightly larger than what your current frame can support.  


Body Glide or Hoo Ha Ride Glide are of no use to me.  Well...that is, unless I just dip my whole body in it.

It's not a complaint or a back-handed, thinly veiled brag.  Rather, it's a strangely giggle provoking, rear-end stinging, Neosporin begging result of doing what you're supposed to do.  Fat dissolves, chafing increases, we readjust, buy smaller clothes and keep on training.  

And as for that bag of Mission Rounds I've been neglecting since breaking up with my scale a few months back, no worries (she says with a slight nod of her head), I'll see you when I step off the plane, from my flight home from Copenhagen in August.

Until then, the girl with the disappearing (and sometimes clothes chafing) rear-end and thighs bids you all a hearty, Olé!