Getting the shaft
Are bouncing breasts and dangling dicks a pain in the gym? Our male and female reporters trade parts to find out how the other half gives.
Tue Sep 9 2008
I always had an inkling that we ladies were way worse off than men when it came to comfort and exercise, but it’s only now that I get just how easy it is to work out with the family jewels. Jogging through the East Village with a 5.5-inch flaccid penis and creepily true-to-life testicles strapped to my crotch (thanks, Babeland!), my biggest source of discomfort was the worry that someone would notice my bulging package. The second thing on my mind was, as always, the distractingly mobile contents of my sports bra. The third: my keys, uncomfortably wedged into my sneakers. It was only somewhere in the back of my huffing and puffing brain that I was conscious of how the faux junk tucked into my briefs felt. It wasn’t even bothersome; it was just there.
Surely it’s got to be worse than this, I thought. So I hopped onto the exercise bike in hopes of experiencing some ball-crushing discomfort. No dice. My prosthetic third leg and company stayed safely on the seat out of smooshing range, even when I pedaled furiously in an attempt to shift it into harm’s way.
Guys, I’m not moved by your penis plight. Granted, had I been wearing a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts, I may have had some motion-control issues—it couldn’t be any fun to run or bike with a set of sweaty objects thwacking against your thigh. But dudes, take advantage of the fact that American Apparel has brought back the brief and as far as I can tell, you’ll be golden. I’ll never make fun of your tighty-whities again.