The foam roller at Crossfit saw more action than my husband did last night. Then again, when I think about it, that foam roller was probably jammed firmly into at least 6 different peoples crotches throughout the course of the day, so I guess I’m really grateful that my husband doesn’t see THAT much action ever.
I love the foam roller. It’s one of those things that, when you use it, it’s totally acceptable to make both sex noises and faces and no one judges you. In fact, they’re probably making them too.
Last night we foam rolled our inner thighs. Being the super freak that I am, it seems the only place on my inner thighs that ever get tight or sore is right up near my… ahem… where my thigh connects to my pelvis.
Looking around at the group of 10 or so of us who were sweating and panting and splayed out on the floor, it seemed I wasn’t alone.
Never mind the thoughts of just how sanitary, or not, this whole thing was. The one thing I was trying desperately NOT to think was:
“I think this is as close to an orgy as I’ll ever get.”
But of course I thought it.
And then pretty much fell apart in a fit of giggles with everyone around me wondering what the hell was going on.
I didn’t admit it then, it was too bad even for me to say out loud in the moment.
But there it is kids, one of the many things I think but (thank God) do not say at Crossfit.