This is a story I told to a few people and it was too comical to not blog. Warning: it isn’t pretty.
So a couple of weeks ago I had some, uh, chafing issues. I had taken the week off to recover and decided to save up for my long run (7 miles at the time). I set out and I was feeling good. I now run from the house to Lake Lynn, around and then back. So I get about 3 miles in at the lake and things start going down hill. While running, I decide that my underwear is the problem and if I can just get them off, I will be fine. Now the conundrum begins. How does one get their underwear off while wearing running tights and there is no bathroom? I keep running thinking I can just ignore it. Wrong. I finally get to a spot in the park and I can’t take it anymore. I look and no one is coming…and then things got serious. I found a stick in the brush and used it to rip off my own panties. Yup. You heard right. I totally went all cast-away on my delicates in a city park. Then? I kept on running. (I found a trashcan and threw them away in case you thought I was a litter bug). I ended up only making it to about 4.5 miles before calling Kevin to come and get me. My newly freed lady parts weren’t the answer. It hurt bad. The funniness stopped there but I will always run by that place in the park and say “I remember this one time I ran commando in the park…”