There is a time and a place to wear rubber. In an open water swim, when scuba diving or even at a nightclub if that is what tickles your fancy. But not when running. And certainly not when running in a public place. But that is exactly what I have been doing for the past three weeks. It is amazing that I haven’t been arrested.
So why did the Boss make me ride 100km to purchase a pair of passion killing neoprene pants? To see if I can break the world record for sweat production? To satisfy a kinky fetish? None of the above. These pants are actually the latest in hamstring therapy. My pants are made to fit a 12 year old boy. A 12-year old kayaker to be precise – as they have a-not-so designer patch on each buttock for added cushioning. Maybe I am the size of a 12 year old boy, or 12 year old boys are very large – whatever they are tight, almost uncomfortably so, especially when assuming the squat position. They are also very warm. It’s a bit like steam cooking a sausage, especially when my speed exceeds a walk.
So to summarise the pants look crap, are passion killers (not that I get much passion) and make me look like I am on my way to a fetish club-cum-school boy kayaking contest. But do they work? I have to say, categorically – yes! In conjunction with some tantric style exercises, hands on massage, cling film and clay (don’t ask) and a tube of smelly anti inflammatory cream I have to say that the dodgy hamstring is much less dodgy, and the running form is coming back in rubbery leaps and bounds up here in the Swiss mountains. My calves are now more like cows because of the hills, and my aquatic skills are less sink and more and more swim as each day goes by. So everything is looking rosy for IM Germany next month. I might leave the pants at home though. Unless anyone knows of a nightclub that might let me in wearing them.