Slo Jo: What the Pluck

Distance: 12 miles

Pace: Ugh

Attitude: Poor

Wine: None (possible explanation for baditude)

I meet Coach at 5:30 a.m. It is cold out—like 60. I know that isn’t actually cold, but after my Santa Monica running day when it was 64 and I boiled to death in my long sleeves, I decide to wear a tank top and shorts. Turns out, when the sun is not up, it makes a difference. I burrow into my car seat for warmth. The car seat is warm, and cozy, and clean, like a lovely soft bed. So comfortable…so warm…

Coach gives me a wrinkled jacket that looks like it has been wadded into an extremely tiny ball and wedged under the car seat. He tells me it is time to go. So much for my pleasant slide into sleep in the car. 

Beneath the jacket I am wearing new shorts. They are the kind that sort of come up on the sides, kind of retro 80s. 

I’ve been afraid of wearing such things because I fear they are too short (at least for me—on skinny people they look great), but I was having a body-confident morning and on they went. These new shorts are okay for about seven miles. Then they decide they want to ride up and live in my crotch.

So it goes like this:

Step step step step adjust shorts

Step step step step remove shorts from crotch

Step step step step adjust

Step step step pluck 

Coach finally asks me what I am doing since I have my hands in my crotch all the time. I explain I’m having a ride-up problem which is ALSO causing chafing.

I tell you what. I don’t talk about thigh chafing with just anyone (other than you, Gentle Reader). But after you run 12 miles with someone, you suddenly feel completely comfortable discussing the state of your nipples. Do they chafe? What chafing product are you using? You can discuss flatulence or excessive mucus production, and you can plot your bathroom needs together. Running is a catalyst to getting to know everything you never wanted to know about the other person.

So I explain my crotch problem, and Coach gives me some udder cream and I apply it. To my inner thighs. In front of a man. This is the sort of thing that wouldn’t have happened a year ago. I would have suffered through it or faked an aneurysm or something to get out of completing the run. You’d think this experience would inspire me to lose the 10 pounds or whatever that would get rid of the chub rub problem, but no. Instead I’m proud for being so mature and accepting of myself.

(You try having a self-esteem moment while applying udder cream in public.)

Meanwhile, putting aside my crotch/thigh issues, I am in a bit of a mood. I just don't ever quite get into the run. I advocate walking as a perfectly good exercise. My shirt is riding up. My left knee hurts. Then my right knee hurts. I keep Coach informed of every one of these issues. Then my toe hurts. Then I note we are going too fast.

“You can just do six, you know,” he says. He is either using reverse psychology or trying to get rid of me.

“Six is a totally reasonable amount of miles,” I say.

“It is. I’m gonna do 12. But you can just stop at the cars after six.”

“Well, I just WILL,” I say. “This is horrible. I hate running. My headphones hurt.” Then I drink some water and resolve to stop complaining, and run the second six. I survive it, perhaps complaining a tiny bit. Coach turns up his music to drown me out.

***

I learned later, from Facebook, that one of my friends, K, had seen me on the run! She posted on my wall that there had been a Slo Jo sighting. That was awesome! I hope she didn’t see me while I was busy pulling my shorts out of my crotch or slathering udder cream on myself. K had a baby and already is back to looking like a model. She probably is not doing the step step step pluck. But great to see friends out running! If you have a Slo Jo sighting, please say hi. It will give me an excuse to stop. And adjust my shorts.