My husband is a triathlete. Yep, he does it all - swims, bikes, runs. And trains for it, too. This means many evenings and Saturday afternoons alone while he is out putting another notch on his training schedule. I'm happy he's doing something that makes him happy. But sometimes I find myself pouting all the same.
Even if I do complain, though, there is one perk - empathy. Let me explain. To be as speedy as possible in the water, he shaves his legs. To be as speedy (and comfortable) as possible on the bike, he wears bib bike shorts - bike shorts with sort of suspender-strap things attached to them that cut down on waistline slippage (see above - no, that's not my husband). How many women can say that their husbands know the woes of both razor rash on your thighs AND having to use the bathroom while wearing a one-piece bathing suit? Enough said.
Even if I do complain, though, there is one perk - empathy. Let me explain. To be as speedy as possible in the water, he shaves his legs. To be as speedy (and comfortable) as possible on the bike, he wears bib bike shorts - bike shorts with sort of suspender-strap things attached to them that cut down on waistline slippage (see above - no, that's not my husband). How many women can say that their husbands know the woes of both razor rash on your thighs AND having to use the bathroom while wearing a one-piece bathing suit? Enough said.
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