Hood to Coast is an annual event pinning teams of twelve against asphalt, weather, sleep deprivation, chafing, and each other. Hood to Coast 2011 marked the 30th anniversary of the race dubbed The Mother of all Relays, and was comprised of roughly 1,250 teams, 15,000 runners, 4,100 volunteers, and a countless number of porta-potties. Each runner is responsible for three legs with leg distances ranging from 3.5 to 8 miles and total individual mileage ranging from 13.5 to 20. By the ocean front finish line, the runners have covered a collective 200 miles, developed a new threshold for pain, and discovered new and fantastic bodily smells.
Hood to Coast 2011 had the pleasure of hosting yours truly, resulting in increased performances by those lucky enough to be graced with my presence. The vicinity of my running libido plays factor - the closer I am, the faster you run.
But there is a price paid for such speed. Injuries plagued our team. While the physical hardships might have seemed harmless at the moment incurred, some scars may last a lifetime.
If you'll recall a blog entry back in June titled Rejected Hood to Coast Names, I provided team names discarded by teammates. Unbeknownst to most, one team name from a much longer list of names had been chosen: Chafed and Confused.
The team name turned out to be a dark premonition of things to come because, you see, chafing turned out to be our first injury. More than one had the chafe between their legs. One may have had chafing of the underarm. But I can say with confidence that I had it in the worst of locations.
Nipples aren't meant to be raw. They aren't made to bleed. In fact, I'm slightly confused why I have them at all. Yet, when rubbed to the point of chafing, those man tits will make it known that they are not happy. Especially in the shower. And for days after.
While the chafing of my mammary man glands was harsh, it was not the most immediate of concerns when out on the course. Blisters are a well documented occurrence for walkers and runners alike. Friction in the shoe has the potential to cause sores just about anywhere on the foot.
Fortunately, it's the common appearance of these foot pustules that gave us the foresight to prepare. Both vans of team Chafed and Confused had a cooler stocked with delicious deli meat. Many consider this just another form of race sustenance, but really it doubles as a blister countermeasure.
Once a toe hot spot has been detected, liberally drape deli meat in the area to soothe the afflicted foot. Ensure the deli meat remain cold by rotating applied pieces between foot and cooler. Teammates will tell you they'd prefer to know when you're in need of such treatment; however, I've found it best to keep this antidote between you and your ham sandwich.
Indeed blisters are painful, pus filled, and unsightly, but it is very possible the full extent of greater injuries may not be appreciated for decades to come.
Compression shorts: worn by many, feared by few. Until now. Tightness of the confining man spanx thrusts the male genitalia into the elevated body heat of the runner. Testicles cannot sustain sperm life at those extreme temperatures causing temporary sterilization. Forgo the condom post 8 miler because you're shooting blanks.
There is great reason to be concerned that fertilization after compression shorts might not be possible - Sam and Frodo were cooped up in that genital sweat-lodge between my legs for 24 hours...they probably won't fight for Gandalf anymore.
News outlets sell tales of crazy runners participating in a ridiculous relay race. They'd have you believe the level of training required is too arduous, the financial price tag too high, the bodily harm too great. And after reviewing the above injuries, I might agree with them.
But it's nothing my deli meat can't cure.
See you on the beach in 2012!
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
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