A sore point

Tired from yesterday’s run, I went out this morning to put a few miles in, just to get my weekly distance back up to where it should be meaningful again. I’m travelling for the first week of April and will probably not get any exercise, so this might compensate a little.

There was an orienteering event in Singapore today; lots of teams of two, three, four or even five people, jogging around, clutching maps. Some of them I overtook, some were faster than me, and most were just going in other directions. I jogged through the Gardens By The Bay, which is starting to feel more like a real thing than just a shopping mall of vegetation, and returned home, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

When I took off my shirt, I had a bloody nipple.

This is not something I’ve ever suffered in the past. There have been days when it’s been cold in England, and one thing leads to another and there’s been a bit of chafing, but never blood. Yet here I was today, a drop of bright red on the end of my left nipple, like a warning sign.

I took a shower, because I was stinking and drenched in sweat, not because I wanted to. As I expected, the water stang, and from the living room my wife could hear my yelps. My nipple stayed bloody.

La Serpienta Negra doesn’t discriminate; given the chance, she’ll latch onto anything breastshaped, and failing that onto noses, ears, anything she can get her mouth around. The time she got her mouth locked onto my ear was a painful and deafening experience. Today though, she just wanted to apply herself to my left pectoral.

I couldn’t let that happen, and had to hold her at arm’s length to dissuade her. On Sunday mornings I usually take her for a walk while my wife has her exercise class, and she enjoys being strapped onto me in the Manduca. I couldn’t risk a wayward hand or mouth today, operating that close to my chest, so she had to go in the stroller instead and be wheeled down the street.

All that running had failed to make me recover any faster from yesterday’s run. I still had soreness, exactly halfway up both of my calves, and my quads felt slow and heavy. I had a coffee, it didn’t make any difference.

My wife returned and took La Serpienta with her. I went to a shopping mall and looked at fancy compression shorts that are meant to make you run faster, and that didn’t make a difference either. I went to the supermarket, bought vitamins and ginger beer, and that didn’t make a difference either, and so I walked home again, nipples still sore.

Latterly, I passed out asleep on the bed. My daughter and my wife both napped this afternoon (it was a sunny day, a banal blue sky and bright light making the streets uninhabitable) and woke later to go and drink wine on the rooftop terrace of a condominium. I was too scared to remove my shirt and check what lay underneath. Now I’m drunk, and I worry I’ve only anaethetised the pain, not cured it. We shall see.

2 responses to “A sore point”

    • I was thinking about adapting some of the breastfeeding paraphernalia that we’ve accumulated over the last 9 months, but that may create more problems than it solves.

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