It is often said that no matter how understanding a man is, he cannot relate to new mothers. We can’t give birth, sure, but I’ve heard the pain from passing a kidney stone is comparable. And we don’t have a baby growing inside of us, but many men gain “sympathy weight” and get nice and fat during a woman’s pregnancy and then have to lose it.
And today, I am sorry to say that I too know what it must be like to breast feed. Allow me to explain…
I was reading our beloved Cape Cod Gal’s blog and noticed that she’s got herself all fit and buff. She’s training for a triathlon and so she’s been running in a bunch of local road races. I, on the other hand, have not been doing anything that even remotely resembles exercise. But her post about her recent race stirred within me the desire to get off my fat ass and start running again. After all, I’ve lost 12 lbs since I last went jogging and that can only help the running.
The only problem is, I never ease into anything (that’s what she said!) and so when I saw Cape Cod Gal is running a 5.2 mile race on Saturday, I told myself I would run it too. However, that leaves me four days to train. Less than ideal. But hey, it’s just 5 miles right? I ran cross-country 12 years (and 50 lbs) ago and I’m pushing 30 years old, of course I’ll be able to immediately run 5 miles in sweltering heat and humidity. How can you question that logic?
And so I did it when I got home from work. I mapped out a 5.1 mile course, stretched a little bit and off I went. I made it the first 3 miles without stopping, but then I hit hills and lots ’em. All in all it took me 1 hour and 2 minutes to complete the course. Hardly a blistering pace, I know. But after no training, I’ll take it and now I ready to kick ass on Saturday.
The only problem? MY NIPPLES ARE KILLING ME!
Yes, that’s right. My nipples. You see, it was very hot and muggy out today. And I’m a fat guy who decided to run 5 miles. And even though I didn’t realize it at the time my man boobs were bouncing around inside my soaked cotton T-shirt, there was much chafing going on.
When I got back home and MJ had to help me up off the lawn because I nearly passed out jumped in the shower, that’s when I noticed it. As the water cascaded down my flabby excuse for a body, it felt like 1,000 little pins were ferociously stabbing me in my nipular area. At first I thought it was an errant mosquito. But then I looked down and saw little spots of blood on my right man nipple.
The pain was unbearable. Sure I may be a huge wuss, but I had to spend the rest of the shower covering my nip. And as I winced at the searing pain coursing through my chafed nipple, I realized this is likely 1/1000th the pain that breastfeeding moms go through.
Seriously, I’m bitching about a chafed and slightly bloody nipple from 1 hour of running. Moms who breastfeed have a ravenous human being continuously gnawing on theirs. Every two hours, the baby chomps on the nipple and probably turns it into ground meat. And I realized, right then and there, that I will never partake in a breastfeeding debate ever again. Because if I were a woman, I’d go for the formula right from the start. There’s no way I’d offer up my nipple to that kind of pain and degradation. I can’t even deal with chafing, nevermind someone else chewing on it.
So all you breastfeeding mamas out there who gave it up, I’m with you. You won’t get any criticism from me, only a renewed appreciation of your efforts. For I have felt your pain and I understand your plight. Soldier on. We, fat men who bite off more than they can chew while jogging, are on your side.