Not So In Tune (Not Just My Singing)

I'm the kind of person who often walks around with bumps and bruises wondering how they ended up on my body.

For example, the other morning, I glanced in the mirror while crossing the bathroom and noticed this weird, dark mark on the inside of my thigh.

I paused, tried a few poses, then took a closer look. Hmmm. Some type of bloody, angry scab. About an inch in diameter.

Interesting.

I pretty much forgot about it until I went to the doctor later that day. "What's this?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, that thing, I don't know - maybe my thighs have started to rub back together when I run?"

"Well," my doctor said, "you need to watch this and if it doesn't go away in a month - let me know."

Yikes, I guess I need to actually think about this.

I dug out some of that stuff they always put in the triathlon race bags for "dry, cracked skin." I've used it for blisters before and it always seemed to help quicken the healing process.

The next day, I ran, and, thankfully, noticed that my thighs had not blossomed a few inches to cause some type of new chaffing.

Then I went home to bike on the trainer. Maybe my bike shorts were the problem. I put them on. Nope, they didn't seem to hit the aggravated spot.

I started riding. About ten minutes into the workout, the spot felt a little itchy. I scratched it thinking it was just starting to go through that bothersome, healing stage.

Still itchy. Dang it. Leave me alone.

I checked out my shorts, they hadn't ridden up.

I pulled them down further anyway.

Itch, itch, itch.

Finally, I looked down, the Velcro attaching my bike backpack to the seat post was a little loose and had been rubbing the spot on my thigh with every pedal turn.

Oh yeah, I replaced the bikepack last weekend, before the two and a half hour ride of joy.