Slick Stick

I used to be an overdressed runner. For example, at my first marathon, Grandma’s in 2002, I sported a pair of cropped cotton pants despite the steamy weather that day along the North Shore. The reason for this is that I, like many runners, was born bearing an extra-heavy burden, so to speak. But it’s not what you think; it’s not the half-moons stuck to the hips that plague so many women. In my case, rather, the saddlebags are slung on the other side, around the inner thighs. Long pants were my attempt to wrangle them.

Aesthetically speaking, I don’t find inner-thigh fat at all displeasing. Like large breasts or shapely hips, it’s one of those essential, carnal ways in which females differ from males. The plumpness draws a womanly curve that’s especially appealing, I’ve found, to any number of men. From a biomechanical perspective, however, “thunder thighs” aren’t always so pleasant. Though mine barely brush against each other when I’m walking, the instant I pick up the pace, they begin rubbing violently—unless they are harnessed. The result is that wearing shorts puts some of the tenderest flesh on all the human form at risk for getting rasped into red, smarting rawness.

A few months after that first marathon, an angel swooped down from the heavens and, masquerading as a clerk at my favorite running store, handed me a stick of BodyGlide. Previously, I had relied on petroleum jelly, which was successful in ameliorating but not eliminating some types of abrasion, as long as they occurred from the waist up. For instance, Vaseline shielded my chest from the stabbing seams of my sports bra. But it could not solve the problem of my thighs. Before I’d run so much as a mile, friction would have whisked the jelly away, and my thighs would be chafing along just as before. I had resigned myself to wearing Lycra yoga pants and biking shorts, which kept friction at bay but made me feel stickily and sweatily confined.

BodyGlide changed everything. It isn’t greasy in the same way Vaseline is because it was invented by surfers who didn’t want to muss their expensive neoprene wetsuits. Neither is it gunky or sticky. Instead, BodyGlide is a silky balm. It’s made from plant-based triglycerides, better known as aloe vera and vitamin E, so in cold, windy weather, it staves off cracked, dry skin, too. Then there’s the packaging, much like that of a deodorant stick, which makes it a snap to apply. Amazingly, BodyGlide doesn’t absorb into the skin, nor does it rub off. One inner-thigh application lasts through an entire marathon. And, of course, this allows me to comfortably wear short-shorts (including those sexy, retro, Steve Prefontaine-inspired looks) again, for the first time since, oh, about fourth grade.

So delightful have I found BodyGlide that it has inspired me to experiment with secondary uses. It’s wonderful when wearing summer skirts on especially hot, sticky days, and a few daubs on the ankles relieve the dig of the hard leather on those shoes that are too fashionable not to wear. Indeed, BodyGlide has ascended my list of household necessities and now ranks right up there with toothpaste and AA batteries.

This product is hardly ubiquitous, however; it’s carried only at running specialty shops and other stores, like REI, that cater to endurance athletes (and ironically, are often staffed by skinny folks with no use for BodyGlide). So while it might require a special trip, stocking up on BodyGlide is never a problem. In the process, I can usually justify picking up a pair of hot new running shorts.