The Mother of All Saddle Sores (Not for the faint of heart!)

After a 2 hour and 30 minute ride in the cold rain Wednesday morning, I felt like a rockstar. I hate being cold and wet, but I did it anyway, and felt pretty cool about it. Nothing will stop me and my training, darn it! I put my soaking clothes out to dry and congratulated myself for my accomplishment—one that anyone in, say, Seattle, would find truly unimpressive—with chocolate cake.

The next morning in spinning, I found sitting on the right side of my crotch felt a little uncomfortable, so I shifted and ignored it. Later on in the day, however, I discovered something truly horrifying: my crotch was swollen on the right side. The mythical creation one of my college comedy troupe costars wrote into a sketch—the vag-ball—truly existed and I was one of the infected! Oh my GOD! Then came the pain. Then came the revelation that I couldn’t ride my bike if I didn’t have someone kill this unwanted growth. Saturday is a big training day, I need my crotch in top form for some good hours on the bike! But no! I will not go to an ER with a doctor who only has general knowledge about all body parts. I want someone who is expressly trained in female parts and specifically female parts that have morphed overnight into hideous golf ball like shapes.

Coachance told me this had, unfortunately, happened to him before (only not in the vag-ball fashion). The remedy? A visit to the ER a, a big needle, a knife, and some antibiotics. OH MY GOODNESS! WHAT!?

I arrived at my female doctor’s office early this morning and told them I had a very personal emergency and needed to see the doctor. After an hour of torture in front of a TV playing Kelly Ripa and then “The View” I was ready to face any and all surgical implements. Good thing, because I had to.

“Get me the biggest needle we have,” I heard my doctor say to someone just outside the door. Hey! I heard that! Oh God.

One giant needle injection of numbing stuff, one nice incision, lots of sanitary towely things and some “blood clotting” ointment later, I was “fixed”. I suppose this is what it’s like when a dog goes in to be neutered. I waddled out of the office to be slammed with the price of ridding myself of the painful and unsightly vag-ball: the Louboutains I wanted to wear to my wedding.

Good thing I thought it was ludicrous to spend so much money on a beautiful pair of red-soled, silver shoes. I certainly didn’t ever think, however, that all that cash would be spent on my crotch instead.

I was about an hour late for work, and of course when I waddled in, people were wondering what happened. How to explain? Um, “bike-related injury”. (Thanks, coachance.)

So learn from my mistake. (Even though I can’t exactly pinpoint what caused this, what is technically called a “labial cyst”.) Change out of your bike shorts RIGHT when you’re done. Keep it dry and clean down there. If you bike to work, bring a change of underwear, and make sure to lube up with Chamois Butt’r or something similar before any and all rides to avoid the chaffing that could lead to your very own, very expensive vag-ball. (And a mandatory few days off of the bike and an antibiotic prescription.)

Happy Saddle-Sore Free Friday!

Found this on the internet. Thought it was pretty funny. Extra points if you can figure out what it's actually for!