Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Confessions of a Grimy Runner, Chapter 2

I don't necessarily hate doing laundry. What I hate is having to do laundry so damn often.

And, unlike certain pairs of jeans, you just can't re-wear running clothes half a dozen times and have it go unnoticed. Running pants are gross, especially in the summer. You sweat, you kick up dirt, you apply BodyGlide which somehow makes every article of clothing it touches immediately smell stale. 

And since almost none of the clothes I run in are supposed to go in the dryer, it means a guaranteed forest in my apartment of damp singlets, socks, capris, tees, tanks, sports bras and runderwear that I have to navigate (sans machete) by ducking under this hanger and skirting around that drying rack. I'm like Indiana Jones in my 'Last Crusade...Before The Next Time I Have To Do The Wash.'

If I'm running outside, where I'm likely to be the only person that will smell me, maybe I'll be a little more liberal with my laundry schedule. I have a degree in alternating running outfits to the breaking point, you know. But a gym day is another story. Would I want to get stuck next to me on a spin bike? No? Then it's time to throw another pair of shorts into the rotation. There ARE no more shorts? LAUNDRY EMERGENCY.

That is when you grab the bottle of Tide, fill your bathroom sink and marvel at just how much grime you accumulated in only 4 miles—so gross I pass 'embarrassed' on the bell curve and venture into the territory of just plain old 'proud.'

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