so did i tell you about the time that i decided to go run four miles with two dudes that i work with?
and that right around mile two, i started to bleed so heavily around my super-plus tampon that it was soaking down my running tights, down my legs front and back for all of downtown and northeast minneapolis to see?
oh, believe me. i considered my options:
a) duck into a bathroom... no go, nothing on our route really, except for a few high falutin' restaurants that i'm sure didn't want to see what was going on in my nether regions. and a little toilet paper was not going to help this situation at all... i needed a full on hosing-down.
b) throw myself into the mighty mississippi and hope for the best...
or c) just keep running and pray for it all to be over soon.
frankly, i'm quite surprised if my male counterparts didn’t notice. but they didn’t say anything. and at times like this, i find deafening silence to be the best approach. some people might call this denial. i call it self-preservation.
at one point, i took off my hat to try and “wipe” some of "it" away, but good lord did that help? no. it just made this gigantic tan-ish stain all over the crotch of my running tights.
if there can be a bright side to this saga at all, it is twofold:· my running pants were black (thank the good lord in heaven, who, after the week i've had, really should have some f#cking mercy...)
· I RAN OUTSIDE FOR FOUR MILES WITH NO KNEE PAIN
take that patella femoral mal-alignment syndrome. i'm kicking you in the ass.
ashley "that ain't no sock in my crotch" rebekah