As promised, this here installment of my training chronicles will be about butt chafing. BUT, since this is the non-half-assed blog, which is big enough and all-inclusive enough for many topics (I am large, I contain multitudes- of disgusting ailments) it will also discuss phlegm expulsion, or in popular vernacular, loogie hocking. Some of my die-hard friends and followers (hi, Joe) will remember my ill-fated campaign of the Bush era days, "Hock a Loogie for Peace." In that blog, I encouraged everyone who wasn't a tax-fearing redneck sociopath to hock loogies on the cars of elected officials that bore bumper stickers proclaiming their "god"-given rights to sociopathy, aka right-wing politics. The theory being, that if these people, especially the elected officials, saw their cars covered in phlegm and mucus, they might think to themselves, "Hmm, quite a few of the citizenry seem to be upset about my politics, based on these bumper stickers. Maybe I should quit being such a narrow-minded, self-interested f*&ker, and instead think of what the people want, and in return I will have a loogie-free vehicle."
Sure, it was easy for me to do - back in the day I rode my bike to work at the Historical Society every morning, and passed through the circular drive of the Capitol building on the way. Plenty of Republican SUVS were well within spitting distance, and I could usually get one or two well-aimed loogs off before barreling down the grassy hill to freedom. My friend at State Patrol dispatch had told me where all the cameras were so I also knew where it was safe to hock, and where it was not. Plus, I'm really phlegmy, especially when exercising. I had to spit SOMEWHERE so I didn't choke on my own mucus - might as well be on some total a-hole's prized gas-guzzler.
The campaign never really took off, aside from me, who has enough loogies at any given time for 4 or 5 people probably- and then Bush finally got thrown out of office and there was less of a need for such guerrilla grassroots action. However,
I still have a built-in arsenal, in case the need ever arises again.
Which brings me back to the running thing. I hock a lot when I run. It's a good thing I'm so damn slow, because no one would want to be behind me while running, much less in a crowded pack. It's not as bad as the biking loogie-hocking actually, and nowhere NEAR as frequent or disgusting as when I was wrangling at the Y-camp in Estes Park- on a horse all day, hot and dusty trails- you get the picture. But still, the phlegm flies. Come to think of it, the Y-Camp wrangling job was where I perfected both the art of loogie-hocking, and chafe prevention. The latter is extremely important when you're on a horse all day, as you will learn on your first day if you din't know it already. Wearing jeans like Wranglers, that have the smooth seam on the inside of the leg rather than the outside, like those stupid Levis- helps a lot, but either way, better toss a handful of baby powder in your underwear first thing in the morning if you don't want to be crying like a baby by mid-day. Unless you enjoy the feeling of tender skin in sensitive areas slowly being rubbed off while sweat, usually salty, is rubbed in.
As for the loogies- we learned quickly to hurl them out of our mouths with enough force to make a graceful arch out and away from our horses, legs, saddles, and hopefully, the customers- for reasons I probably don't need to elaborate on. Too little force would land the loog right on your jeans, or worse, your saddle- making it slippery- and too much might spook your horse. A bike is not quite as tall as a horse, but it's really the same principle- except that on a bike it's much more difficult because the wind is generally pushing right in your face and you're going much faster than the slow amble of a tired trail horse. I really should wash my shoes.
Back to the butt chafing- I hadn't exactly forgotten the lessons of my wrangling summers, but I also didn't think an hour or so of running would work up the same kind of sweat that sitting in a hot saddle did. Call me naive. I dunno. I just didn't think about it. Until the flesh on my inner thighs, and other areas, started to burn like I'd just passed a habanero pepper. One episode of that was all it took for me to swipe the Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder from my daughter's "toilette" kit and douse myself in it like a drumstick in a shake n'bake bag. Before every run, and now before I head off to work every day, the Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder is now my best friend. (sorry, Katerina) I bought this stuff on a "two-fer" deal from a catalog as a gag Christmas gift for my Harley-riding, elk-hunting brother-in-law. Apparently motorcycle enthusiasts discovered it, and now rave about it, as a cure for the "monkey butt" one is prone to on long rides. E.g., red, inflamed, sore, sweaty ass area. It's just talcum powder mixed with calamine powder- but in that exact combination of "aaahhhhhh" that makes it. This bottle is coming to Vegas with me. (sorry, Ella. You'll have to use regular baby powder for your swamp butt for a few days in early December.)
