Who's Got Time For Laundry?

After six months of training and accumulating gear and clothing to prepare me for this race, there is nary a shirt, sock, jacket or pant in my dresser that is made of moisture-absorbent cotton. Cotton clothing to avid runners is like non-alcoholic beer at a NASCAR race. Both are absolute no-no's. The quick-drying, moisture-wicking fibers that now dominate my clothing arsenal have kept me dry, light and warm the past six months. For this, I am grateful. I'm not grateful, however, for the after effects of training in these techie-T-shirts. You see, after returning from a usual training run, my clothing reeks like the inside of my college refrigerator. Upon first whiff, I usually do the "look both ways before sniffing the pits," routine to confirm that the stench is, in fact, my own. How could this be? Was I practicing poor hygiene? Can my neighbors smell me? How do I explain to my girlfriend why I smell like the elderly Eastern European guy in the coffee shop? These are all questions I regularly pondered.

I did some investigative work and confirmed that my personal hygiene fortunatley was not the culprit. I'm an Old Spice guy. I was not looking forward to a shopping trip to one of those expensive male boutiques where the proprietors will want to wax my eyebrows after selling me floral deodorant. I discovered that my running clothes pull moisture away from the skin allowing it to evaporate over the large surface area of the shirt, shorts, etc. This clothing doesn't absorb the perspiration, it simply traps it in the outer fibers allowing it to quickly evaporate. Before evaporating, however, the warm, moist layer of fibers becomes a breeding ground for nasty skin bacteria. (I checked, all humans have skin bacteria, even the man-scaped guys at the boutique salons). The moisture evaporates, but the odor causing bacteria remains to welcome me back from a long run. Hence the stank.

Training in these clothes nearly every day, became an overwhelming burden in the laundry department. I was doing three to four loads of bacteria killing laundry each week. I then got smart. I shower after every run. My clothes need cleaning after every run. Why not address both needs with one effort? The solution involves climbing into the shower post-run, fully-clothed, with a cup full of laundry detergent. After derobing, I simply dump some soap on the mound of soaking clothes, squeeze the water out after bathing and hang for drying. By the next morning, the clothes are dry, bacteria-free and ready to go. My embarrassed girlfriend took one glance at my bathroom (above) and coined this practice "Little House on the Prairie," in honor of the pioneer days without washing machines and dryers. Pretty funny, but I doubt Laura Ingalls Wilder was training for a prairie marathon. I do know that because of this practice, I've avoided my little house of the stinky.