I’ve never been one to chafe, at least not like some people seem to. Sure if it’s really hot I’ll chafe along the shorts-liner, or I’ll get the occasional armpit hot spot, or for some reason my lower back chafes from time to time. Oh and this is kinda crazy. Since my two pregnancies turned my belly button into an outie, it gets rubbed raw if I run in the rain. But it’s nothing too serious: I lube up my little problem areas with the same tube of BodyGlide I’ve owned for several years, and am usually just good to go.
Meanwhile, I read about, and listen to my friends moan about their terrible chafing — one poor friend nearly had a skin-free strip under her sports bra strap last summer. But so far, severe chafing has been one of those things, like plantar fasciitis or melasma, that I imagine must suck but I really never fully appreciated the horror … until recently.
But #soblessed no more. A series of unfortunate events, environmental factors, and poor decisions led to the worst chafing of my life.