Wednesday, November 28, 2007


I've got rashes. Nasty ones, running all over my armpits. Burning, itchy, on fire.

It's a running-related condition I get twice a year. In the spring, because of the return to tank tops for the first time in a while, the sweaty skin on sweaty skin chafes like crazy. In the late fall, man-made materials combined with sweat prove to be foreign to my skin again, rubbing and scraping. I've tried taping, I've tried Vaseline, I've tried creams. Nothing that's supposed to help actually works.

Last night, I attempted to sleep in the position of crucifixion, minus the crucifix, of course. It got more than a bit frustrating.

After a day of feigning normalcy at work, I've spent the night at home in my wifebeater, my armpits slathered in Gold Bond. I'm currently testing a new typing technique designed to minimize the rubbing action. It involves a strong elbow bend and some very challenging angles. This is going about as well as the crucifixion sleeping.

But the biggest problem with this rash isn't trying to get the regular stuff done. You see, I'm kind of addicted to the adrenaline of runner's high, and it's an addiction I've been indulging for a very long time. When I spent a week horizontal on my couch during spring rash season this year, I took up chain-smoking. The smoker's high was pretty damn good, although I smelled kinda raunchy and was wheezing a bit when I got back into running again.

I've promised myself I'm not going the nicotine route again. Tonight, on the way home from work, I stopped and bought one helluva lot of candy. I figure sugar's got to give me a high and it can't be too addictive, right?

So I'm writing this while munching on a delightful combo of chocolate and sour, chewy candies. Experience tells me I'm benched until about Monday. I think I had dreams about being an adult and eating ridiculous amounts of candy for days on end when I was a kid. It's good to accomplish your dreams, no?



Emory said...

Mmmm. Chocolate smothered munchies.

Maybe you get a cortisone shot, and get yourself back into your shoes. Or, maybe you can kick back, watch Amelie, and make yourself a PB&J. Your call.

E <-- Chocolate addict.

complain away said...

I'm actually not that big on chocolate, but I'm very particular with the sammies. Bring on the PB, hold the J. Never liked it.

The PB has to be natural and chunky too. None of the smooth stuff, and especially not the stuff with the icing sugar. Blech.

In case you haven't guessed, I was a PB diva as a child. Because I felt violent disdain for any other kind of food, my immigrant parents were constantly worried that I would starve. We took jars of the stuff everywhere.

I have since learned that there's a whole other world of yummy food, but PB will always be my biggest comfort food.