I was so pleased with myself and pranced upstairs to boast to Curly and mention the supposed 900 calories I had burned doing it (justifies that half slice of Lemon Meringue earlier I like to think) and all was good.
That is, until my exercise euphoria had died down and I started moving again. I noticed that my upper thigh skin was feeling a bit rashy, like my panty elastic had been rubbing on one spot (well I did run 12km) so anyway, I jumped into the shower and creamed myself up as one does afterwards.
And then the fire hit.
I had to lie spread-eagled on my bed with the fan blowing to cool the skin down.
I have chafe.
Because my thighs are fat.
And if not being able to run now due to the pain of friction is not reason enough to stop gorging on chuckles and lemon meringue during the weekend...then I'm doomed with a life of fat thighs....which might mean that I end up lying on the beach like a wallowing whale just like the lady in the picture.
A little light reading while working out how bad it is to be the fattest bridesmaid..
"I couldn't keep pants for years like I can now, because they would wear out where my thighs were rubbing together. When I was heavy my thighs would rub together at the top and wear holes in pants. It's one thing to have a hole in the knee of your jeans. It's quite another to have holes where your thighs rub. Embarrassing." For more, see the full article here
No comments:
Post a Comment