CHAFING by: Allison Hay

As a young girl, I loved to run. I would don my Adidas track suit and Puma runners and head for paths unknown. It was freedom, it was exhilarating. It was effortless. As I got older, I still ran, but less often, but that was okay, I was in my twenties, I could always run when I wanted. It didn’t matter that I smoked, ate poorly, kept long hours, the ability to run could be called up at any time. It was effortless. That is, until, one day, when it wasn’t. One day, I went for a run, expecting the same feeling of freedom, only to find myself clutching a light pole a block from my house, coughing up a lung and wondering when my rear end had slid down to my knees. A day of reckoning, and the day that I started running again for real. So, how do you start running? Left, right, left, right, repeat.

I am a big busted woman, and quite frankly, I already had my butt dragging behind me, I didn’t want to be tripping on my chest in front of me. So, I bought a sports bra. At a running store. A good one. Ok. I tried wearing one. I bounced. Two. Bounce. Three. Bounce. Four. Yup, Four. And I ran, still bounced, but I couldn’t fit five. As I ran, I renewed my love for the activity. I ran longer, felt better, wanted to run more. I rediscovered my stamina, endurance, the joy in running, I discovered breathing. I also discovered chafing. Runners are an odd bunch. Especially those of us who were not exactly born to run, but love it, and are determined to run further, stronger, faster, even though we are bleeding, blistering, chafing. When you run longer distances, you will find that most of your body is either strapped down, or it’s covered in Vaseline. Truly, a glamorous sport.

When you are wearing 4 sports bras at a time, you will chafe, oh, will you chafe. You will chafe under your arms where the seams rub you raw, you will develop a gorilla like arm stance as you run, because you will not stop , but you can’t put your arms down either – too painful. By this point, my sister was also part of my running world, and together, we discovered all sorts of weird places that can hurt as a result of ill fitting adventurous running clothes. When you are silly enough to wear the wrong equipment, your body will tell you in bold print, all caps, no doubt about it. I have peeled off my four running bras to discover bleeding raw skin across my ribs from the friction, nipples that bleed and are so painful (Vaseline is your friend) not to mention, so very ugly. Oh, and then, you will find yourself comparing wounds with other runners. Really! I once developed a blister on my belly, the cause was the clasp of a fanny pack on exposed skin. I knew a woman who had big red welts on her ankles from the plastic covering on her shoe laces. They were too long, and each time she stepped, the plastic slapped her ankles. Over a couple of hours, very painful welts. Sooo sexy. So, you can picture the sight of me running, arms in gorilla position, bleeding from the chest, which is not only bleeding, and blistered, but still bouncing in spite of the four bras I am wearing, covered in Vaseline, not to mention the natural “glow” that comes from exertion. Is it any wonder that we did not buy the finish line photos?

But, we were running, and bouncing. And then, a miracle. The ENELL SPORT bra.

My sister saw the ENELL on TV, and there was only one place in town to get it. So off we went to Sportsbras.ca to see Brigitte, and that was it. We were fitted, I remember I was a size one at the time. Brigitte got us fitted and kitted out. We stood there, a little nervous, wearing only one bra. Could it be true? We jumped. My chest didn’t. Jump, jump, jump. Nothing. No bounce. Hallelujah.

That was about ten years ago. We only run in the ENELL, which is a size 0 for me now. To be clear, ONE ENELL. One. Six marathons later, countless training runs and still sitting up where they should be. I am about to start training for a 50k race in May. The ENELL is a very important piece of my training equipment. As important as my shoes. I don’t have the war wounds to lend to the conversation anymore, but when I spot a woman bouncing, bleeding down the path, arms out at her sides, I have been known to chase her down and flash my ENELL and offer Vaseline. It’s the least I can do.

Hey, you wouldn’t run in high heels, why would you run in lingerie? Right. So now, 14 years after clutching that pole, I can honestly say, that running is once again; freedom, exhilarating, and yup, effortless.

Left, right, left, right, repeat.