We recently returned from a fantastic family cruise vacation. It included much of Travis’ family. I had decided before the cruise that I wasn’t changing my workout routine during the cruise, so one of the first places I visited was the gym. I asked if I could use the spin bikes without being in the class. A ridiculously fit Euro-god-like man said no. So, I signed up for the first spin class the next morning. After the gym, we hit the bar, where we were promptly talked into a drink package. Just for the record, don’t buy the drink package. The only day I hit my “quota” was the very first day…and maybe the last. I always thought I was a solid drinker, but I now know different. I digress…as usual. So the first morning on the cruise, I woke up feeling a little green, and it wasn’t from the movement of the boat. I powered on to the gym for my spin class.

It’s important to note that I work out in short spurts. My entire workout takes 35 minutes on any given day, including workout, sit-ups, and stretch.  I always promise myself 30 minutes, but I like to stretch extra-long (because it takes extra long to feel stretched), so I go over time. I never spin for longer than 20 minutes. The class on the boat was 45 minutes. I was nervous. Sure, every once in a while I think that I could do another 20 on the spin bike…but I NEVER actually do it. I just think I could. So I was sweating with nerves before the class even started. And it was HUMID, despite the AC. So, I picked my bike in the back of the class, got it all situated, and we started. This instructor really liked two moves. One was the cement churner, where the resistance was high and we stood and powered through.  The other was a sprint, where there was little resistance and we pedaled like fools to music with an impossibly fast beat. While there was little resistance on the bike, there was plenty of resistance between my underwear, my crotch, and the impossibly hard bike seat. I could definitely feel some friction, and no amount of squirming could get rid of it. Damn my cushy seat on my home spin bike. Still, I powered on. About half way through (or so I guessed without a clock), the instructor, not even looking like he is sweating, kept looking back at me. Then I remembered why I don’t go to a gym. I am the rare combination of head-sweater and super-red-faced work-out girl. As he looked back for the third time in ten seconds, I was suddenly aware that my hair was soaked through, with sweat dripping off the ends. I can only imagine how red my face looked. This god-man thinks I may die! So I started smiling to show him I was okay. In retrospect, I am sure that made me look just a little fanatical. Spinning impossibly fast, red-faced, soaked, smiling. Think Jack Nicholson in The Shining. God-man only increased his concern, while leading the class, and not sweating. Jerk! He did not want the death of an out of shape, middle-aged woman on his hands.

I managed to power through the rest of the class, smiling maniacally. After a long stretch, I returned to my room feeling really good…until I undressed and realized I had a blister that had popped and was bleeding right where my underwear met my crotch and that hard bike seat. It was the trifecta. It’s never good to be bleeding after a work-out. And it HURT! And the soap in the shower did NOT make it feel better. That’s when I knew that I would go commando for the remainder of the cruise. I only wear one type of underwear, so it hits in exactly the same place, so putting underwear on an oozy open wound was not an option. Here’s what I learned about going commando. I became fanatical about checking the butt seams on all pants. Remember, I have done half a day of shopping with a huge hole in the butt of my jeans. Imagine that with no underwear, and my middle-aged butt hanging out. No thanks! Despite my vigilance, I was still nervous stretching in the gym (yes, I still went back to the gym) with my ample back-end in the air, relying on my old, stretchy work out pants to hold it together. And yes, I could use the spin bikes outside of class child-like, god-man bully.

I also learned that my butt was impossibly smooth in certain pants. I couldn’t stop sliding my hands over my butt. I must have looked like I was working out a hurt muscle as I ran my hands over myself. We’ll go with that. Also, if my pants were a little too big or stretched out, and sliding down a little, I felt naked. Not to mention how I felt in a dress. I was desperately trying to avoid a great crotch reveal on formal night when my dress would slide up my legs as I sat down. “No hon, you can have the seat at the bar on the high bar stool. I’m going to stand in my high heels, because, trust me, that’s the better option.”

Another separate experience with the crotch blister was putting on a swim suit for an excursion. Why are the leg holes so TIGHT?! Ouch. And swimming in salt water. WOW! The suit, the sand, the salt water. It was like having someone run a saw on the side of my crotch. And it was bleeding again, which made for fun.

I have more to share aobut the HaldeCruise, but I am out of space and time. I survived the Commando Cruise and hopefully did not have a “Great Crotch Reveal.” Check the internet for that. Or, better yet, don’t. Some things you can’t unsee. Just saying. Have a great week!