Milestones Part II -OR- That Time I Looked Like I Was Wearing a Sweat Bikini

It was muggy in DC, which was not unexpected, after all, it is built on a filled-in swamp, so I made sure to dress accordingly…sports bra, running tank top, medium grey colored, light weight cotton bike shorts and Hanky Panky thong panties (I mean, I simply could NOT concentrate on my running stride if I thought I had VPLs…) VERY minimalist.

I was super excited, as it was my first 5K and I felt very prepared. Or so I thought. I drank a bottle of water and a diet coke before the race started…and then…we were off!!!

I had warned my SIL (who was running with me) that I would *propably* not be able speak and run at the same time. Doing so could cause me to collapse to the ground in exhaustion leaving nothing more than a pile of skin and clothes… like a vampire exposed to sunlight. But as we pressed on (at a fabulously slow, but manageable pace) I realized that I could, in fact, run, breath and speak, in sync.

Presently, my SIL giggled and asked me, “Do you hear someone running with change?”

Jingle, jingle, jingle…

Sure enough and clear as a bell, there was the noise of someone jogging, with what sounded like, a COINSTAR MACHINE worth of loose change on their person. The key phrase being on their person. That’s because as we approached the dude, we discovered that he was actually wearing even less than myself…no shirt even...

just a pair of those teeny, weeny running shorts that that guy who sat behind you in algebra wore when he ran on the high school Cross Country team. He was super smart and didn’t look like an athelete at all, but boy, he was ripped as hell in those tiny shorts and tank top and he could smoke everyone’s ass in the 5K…anyway, you know the type.

So anyway, this fella is wearing these itty, bitty black shorts with “dolphin tail” side splits up each side, so every time he moved you could practically see his unborn children. Then, out of no where, my SIL busts out with,

“I wonder where he’s keeping his change?! EWWW!” and we BOTH burst out laughing. Laughing and running…now THAT’S a first!

As we moved on (I thought we were like, ¾ done, but my Garmin said “0.6 miles,” GRRR!) I was getting sweatier and sweatier and at one point, I actually inhaled my own perspiration, I was running, wiping sweat from my eyes and face, running, chatting…and then I got GOOSEBUMPS. As hot as it was, I got chills. I decided that I was dying (why else would my hot body –and I mean “hot” as in INFERNO, not as in “Playboy,” but you can think whatever you want…)

but decided to press on…At least I knew my body’s cooling system was working, even if I WAS dying.

As the finish line approached, I was spent, but exhilarated. It felt amazing to finish my first 5K, but more importantly, I was doing it with REAL purpose…to support my MIL, who is a breast cancer survivor, those who came before her and those who will come after her. My SIL and I found a shady spot on the Mall to cool off. We sat next to each other, cross-legged (we can’t say “Indian Style” anymore, as it is considered politically incorrect, like everything else…) AND then I looked down at my crotch.

OH NO.

Oh yes. Every place my Hanky Panky thong touched flesh was SOAKED with sweat, but ONLY those places. I basically looked like I tinkled myself. I looked around at the crowd of what turned out to be 50,000 people, and couldn’t find a single person in biker shorts among them. Just me. Don’t you just HATE to be the LEAST experienced runner in the bunch? How did *I* know that I would literally look rode hard and put away wet. In fact, I ran into the ONLY other person who was experiencing the same problem in her sweatpants just as her friend was advising her to “cover herself with her racing shirt” thinking she PEED HER PANTS. The lady was like, “I didn’t pee myself!” and so I chimed in, “Look at me! Look at my CROTCH!” (probably the only time I will EVER be able to say that!) They both looked at me, looked at my sweat bikini and we all burst out laughing.

It was then I felt my top and realized that the thick fabric and hardware required to punish, slap around and control my breasts while I run since two pregnancies and two breastfed babies left them (EACH) with a mind of their own was also WICKING the sweat from my body and soaking through my tank top. At that point, there was very little about me the 50,000 race participants didn’t know…in fact…I think only my husband and doctor are privy to little more. Excuse me, is my IUD showing through my sweat-filled shorts and panties?

GOO.

It was about this time that I realized my SIL had used the port-a-potty twice and I felt NOTHING.

Like…maybe I DID tinkle myself…No, no…it was still just sweat. Oh God…First the goosebumps and now this…now my KIDNEYS were shutting down, too. I self-medicated with a fresh case of angst, wringing of the hands and two bottles of water. But still NOTHING. Had I been running with Tina, we would have already shared a bottle of wine between us, and she TOTALLY would have peed herself by now…and me?, I’m sure I would have tee-tee’d, too. But, I mean, I DO have an aversion to public bathrooms, especially Don’s Johns, but this was more than that. I was actually not producing urine. SCARY! Maybe I’d feel the urge soon. In the mean time, I just tried to rub my kidneys and hope for the best…
We then waited patiently (at first) for my MIL and her sister to finish the walk. We waited, walked around, waited, sweated some more. I was pretty sure, at that point, that I could have baked a pizza in my nu-nu. It was like a brick-oven up in my peesch.

. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s good time and I didn’t want to rush anything, but I KNEW I had to get in some dry pants on…like, 15 minutes ago. But, I stayed silent.

Going to lunch at Sweetwater Tavern, my FAVORITE when I lived in DC, is the traditional fare after the Race for the Cure. I couldn’t wait for a well-deserved and long-awaited plate of Tex-Mex Eggrolls, so I put the wet clothes out of my mind and enjoyed a FABULOUS meal…good food and GREAT company…Everything is better with family, even despite the fire down below. I did pause to wash my Metro-tainted, dirty city hands…and to TRY to wee-wee…and after I produced nothing more than a timble full of wee, I put myself on the transplant list and downed a HUGE water with lemon and a HUGE diet coke and hoped that my family could find my last Will and Testament in the lock box after I expired. In case you’re wondering, a few hours later I discovered that, in fact, my kidneys were still working. Bless.

We returned home and I showered like it was my job. Unfortunately, the legacy of the Sweat Bikini didn’t wash away so easily. It was a scary couple of days for me and my nu-nu, but we pulled through with the help of baby wipes, Desitin and $63 worth of analgesic and cortisone ointments purchased, by me, in my VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER.

On this, my very first race, I learned two very important lessons: 1. Wicking material is my friend; biker shorts/thong panties/DC humidity are not and 2. I need to drink more water when running. My next race isn’t until Labor Day and I’m thinking about wearing this…(the one on the left...I'm sure the leisure suit doesn't breathe...)

Just in case.