So my vagina wanted to divorce me on Sunday. True story.
See, I’m signed up for the American Diabetes Association’s annual Tour de Cure ride at the end of March, and I am raising money and riding miles to support this great organization. (If you want to support me, please go here. Every single dollar makes a difference and I NEED help to raise the most money possible!)
And when I say miles, I’m not kidding. I’m riding sixty freaking two of them. That’s a long time in the saddle kids.
This past Sunday was a good warm up event, and I got my cycle on with a 40 mile distance.
I’m not going to lie, I was SUPER nervous going into this ride. I had a friend to ride with, and had been putting in the training and the miles leading up to it, but 40 would be the longest ride I’ve done yet and I was a little concerned my body wouldn’t hold up.
Luckily, I was wrong. I felt GREAT. Amazing even. When we got to 10 miles I didn’t believe we were there already. At the rest stop at 20 I was itching to get back on my bike. At 30 I was still laughing and having a great time, and even pulling the pack a bit.
But at about 35 miles, while taking stock of how my body felt, I realized a somewhat unpleasant truth.
Despite the extremely padded bike shorts, the plethora of chamois butter, and the time spent training, my lady bits were KILLING me.
How does one get THAT into better shape?