Underwear. Panties. Chonies. Whatever you wanna call them, we all wear them…..well, some of us wear them. I know I do because the thought of going commando gives me the skieves. Seriously. Nothing between my vagina and my pants is gross to me. Plus, you then cannot wear said pants more than once before washing because…EW. Enough said. And underwear and running….let’s just say this is what I have discovered. You need to have the right pair of underwear to go running. There is nothing sexier than running and having to pick a wedgie out of your butt. And how do you do this gracefully? I have yet to figure out a way. Nor have I yet to figure out the right pair of chonies to wear while running. But here is what I have learned about underwear.
Grannie panties. Yup. Grannie panties. Every girl owns them whether you want to admit it or not. Why? Because as a fat girl, these are more comfortable and you can pull them up over your panza. Seriously. There is nothing I hate more than having a pair of panties roll down my stomach and disappear underneath into the fat roll void. It is not comfortable. And then you spend your entire time you are wearing them hitching them up constantly till you have pulled them so tight to try to get them to stay that you have now given yourself either a yeast infection or camel toe. And nobody wants to see that. Grannie panties and running, however….I have tried these and there are some inherent problems. Grannie panties for me tend to ride pretty high up on the top of my butt. Ok my flass. What is a flass? My brother and I are cursed with said flass. Difference being he is SUPER skinny and I am just the fat girl with the flattest ass you will ever see. How is it that my sister got all the booty in the family? She has a nice round butt, and I, despite being a fat girl, have a flat ass….or flass. So, herein lies the problem with Grannie panties. They work great for work, but tend to stick out of the top of my workout pants. Nothing says Hey…I am a serious runner than the sight of my Grannie panties bunched up and peeking out of the top of my workout shorts as my workout shirt got sucked into the fat roll void and remained glued there by my raccoon grease. Add the ridiculously large pink bow to that and you will get the image that I am sure several people got that fateful day at the Y. I shall now go quietly in a corner and cry. So Grannie panties…out.
To thong or not to thong? Seriously? Am I even considering this? A fat girl NEVER considers a thong. Why? Ok. Go try it. Just go try it. I’ll wait. Go put on said thong that I know you have in your underwear drawer hoping that some day you will get the courage to try it. Once you have on said thong, go stand in front of the mirror. What did you see? I will tell you what I saw when I personally tried this experiment as a fat girl. Nothing. Yup. I could feel it, but where was it? Oh wait….let me lift up my fat roll….there it is….cutting little indentations into my fat and making it do some weird fat dance that I do not want to see. And again, there I was attempting to pull up said thong over the fat roll. This led me to discover that first off a thong should NEVER be stretched that tight and secondly that thongs, when they break fly quite far like little rubber bands across the room and end up hanging from a ceiling fan with you wondering “Huh. Wonder who’s gonna get that down or will anyone even notice if I left it sailing around my living room?” That was not something I wanted my tall brother to reach for me. Glasses from the top shelf, yes. Broken thong hanging from my ceiling fan, no. So thong…not a option for me. I spend too much time trying to get my panties out of my butt to actually put them there.
So the search for the perfect panties continues as I run. Ones that won’t roll down my fat girl stomach or cut off circulation to the fat causing it to make new fat rolls that were never there in the unforgiving workout shorts. As for the one week mark in the experiment…wait. Did I just say one week? Holy running my fat girl flass off! I must admit, today was a challenge, but only because I was bone tired. I had one of THOSE shifts at work and after 12 hours of stress and not even having enough time to sit let alone pee, BFF and I opted for breakfast instead of working out to discuss how hellacious both our nights had been. I instead, went for my run when I got home. Pretty sure parked cars moved faster than me today. Point being this….despite being bone tired, I went running anyways. Who is this girl? Me…the couch potato…came home from breakfast and immediately went out for my thirty minutes. I was dragging, but my body WANTED me to go. WTH? I didn’t even hesitate. I could have gone to bed for a first day off nap, but I went RUNNING and it wasn’t bad. I actually felt better afterwards. Stress relieved by running instead of repressing and eating my feelings? This is a whole new concept for me. Tomorrow I shall weigh in and see how the first week of the experiment has treated me.
Oh yeah. I didn’t die today. Slow as hell but I didn’t die. Go me. The experiment continues….