Rough times

Since, as my wife moans, I blog about pretty much everything here, I’ll blog about this.

Friggin’ hemorrhoidal cream. Friggin’ …

Long-time hem sufferer, but I’ve never needed the ol’ cream before. Then I ran a half marathon this past weekend, and something snapped. Any runner with distance under his/her belt will understand the pre-race scene of lining toilet paper on the seat of a nasty port-a-urinal, trying to poop before the big race. You wanna clear out, so you push and push and push and push and push and …

Hemorrhoidal cream.

This sucks. I’m in genuine pain. Went to CVS this evening to buy hemorrhoidal cream. Had to ask the 18-year-old clerk where it is. She literally said, “That’s for feet, right?” I just nodded, then searched on my own. Found it, paid—sorta reminded me of the first time I bought condoms, shuffling awkwardly, hmm, heh, hmm, heh.

Friggin’ hemorrhoidal cream.

PS: About the half-marathon. Beast of a race. Did it out of jealousy—the wife has been running a lot, and I get jealous. Feel like I’m missing out. So, despite probably running a whopping six times (total) this winter, I signed up for the hilliest half I’ve ever run. Wound up pullinh out a 1:45—slow for my general standards, fantastic for the crud running shape I’m in.