Funyun Crotch

Now some of you might gag a bit at the title of this post. Some of you might cry out, "This woman is too much!" But if you really and truly laugh at my shit and/or know me, you will read on. Got you curious, didn't I?

I am a fan of group fitness. What is this you ask? It is an organized class where a fitness instructor leads a group of several people in some sort of ritualistic torture which is often accompanied by booty-popping bass music. You will walk out sweaty and hearing impaired, it's a hoot! You burn a LOT of calories. (Read: you can eat those fries at Red Robin once in awhile..) Why don't I merely enjoy doing my own thing at the gym? Because I am a lazy sack of unmotivated shit, that's why. Sure, I have my new Nike Air Shox sneakers on, my Lucy suction-my-ass-like-Michael-Phelps'-lips-on-a-bong workout pants, and my double sports bras to restrict black eye induction caused by excessive jarring of my double D's. I have my freshly loaded Ipod with great club music. I have my aluminum thermal water bottle full to rehydrate me. But I also have my trashy People magazine, which will unintentionally distract me from getting much faster than a meander on a treadmill. I will be so caught up in Kate Gosselin's new hairdo or Jessica Simpson's erroneous choice of camel-toe-inducing mom jeans that I will not even break a sweat. And isn't that why we go to the gym?

So I subject myself to these perfect (bitches) instructors who could be stunt doubles for the movie 300 with their God damn 8-pack abs. Their asses are so tight if I shoved a lump of coal between their mini hamburger bun butt cheeks, I'd have a diamond in 42.7 minutes. And let's talk about the gun show!! Apparently I got the short stick when God was drawing good body parts for me. The instructors arms look like finely sculpted perfection, whereas mine resemble lumpy cans of Pillsbury fucking French loaf. Sigh. That's why I ATTEMPT to do push ups, though I often cave to the pussy-style, on-the-knees girly variety. Fuck you, push ups are HARD! We repeat various moves with dumbbells, benches, rubber yoga mats, balance balls, resistance bands, benches of varying heights, medicine balls, weighted bars, and even weighted gloves. It sounds like an S&M convention but the only thing you "get off" is the calories from those Reeses Peanut Butter Cups you inhaled last night at 11:30.I am not complaining, I NEED someone to kick my ass into gear.

There are various degrees of perspiration you create from said activities. Some people drip like they're having tantric donkey sex in the Amazon rainforest, others merely glisten. If you can imagine, this perspiration creates an odor situation in the fitness studios. Some days it is fucking rank as shit. I admit, I do sweat quite a bit when I am not reading about Lindsay Lohan's coke bender as I walk at 1.5 miles per hour on the treadmill. I may very well be a culprit in the case of the dirty foot aroma wafting from Studio 1. But there is another odor, one you sometimes need to be up close and personal to enjoy. I lovingly refer to this as Funyun Crotch. Combine 1 pair of thong panties, one pair of tight Spandex workout pants, 1 hour of intense cardio activity, and 1 shitload of sweat. Have you ever smell a bag of freshly opened Funyuns, the corn snack that is supposed to resemble onion rings? It is NASTY. Welcome to the world of post workout panties.( I hope you are either laughing or vomiting at this depiction. Admit it, it's funny.) This smelly cooch phenomenon is not solely my plight, it is one we often discuss in the locker room or at the cafe over smoothies. (Not Funyun flavor, I prefer Strawberry Mango..) Some may be shy in admitting it but we all know it's there. It's like that turd in the toilet someone won't claim and flush. ANYONE could have done it. So don't pretend your vag smells like sunshine and fucking roses after you work out. I stood behind you in class, I should know.