Nipular Tectonics 3/16/10

I put prophylactics on my nipples before every run. Not in the condomular sense, of course. I am not worried about my nipples reproducing while I exercise. I am a man; I cannot give birth to nipples. I mean prophylactic in the sense of being a preventive measure against disease or injury.

When I say disease, I do not mean something as terrifying as Alzheimer's Disease of the Nipple-a band-aid cannot stop that. Only by keeping your nipples mentally active can you prevent them from forgetting who you are later in life. They might wander off and attach themselves to someone else's chest in your eighties, if you do not engage them in activities that challenge them, such as crossword puzzles, yoga, and piano lessons.

And when I say injury, I do not mean something like a sprained nipple. I once tripped while running on a rocky trail, landing flat on my very flat chest. My right nipple took the majority of the impact, suffering a severe sprain. I can tell you that my Nip-Guards had not signed up for that kind of duty. I was in a nipple brace for six weeks, with two months of intense rehab afterwards. I was given an arduous series of strengthening and stretching exercises, in order to re-train my nipples to do what they had so naturally done before the fall: bounce up and down.

And that bouncing is precisely why I need to cover my utterly unprotected udders. You see, I suffer from exercise-induced propulsive nippleitis, or EIPN. When I start to run, my nipples instantly go from subterranean, to Himalayan, a process that has been likewise applied to the formation of continents, mountain ranges, and fault lines. Uncovered, they thrust their points right between the fibers of my shirt. Thus trapped, they panic, flailing about desperately, bruising and cutting themselves.

From my description of the violent forces at work, you might think that some elaborately constructed system of counter weights and hydraulic levers might be necessary to counteract the destruction wrought by nipular upthrusting. They have been tried, and they have failed. You can find on youtube, a horrifying video of The Nipple Pounder 3000, which a Finninsh engineer, Maki Ruotimaki built and suspended over my chest. It featured a network of 22 cables, and three water flumes, all coordinated to drive two ten-inch teak pillars into my nipples, as soon as nipular propulsion was detected. The results, played out over thirty, soggy, bloody seconds, have become the most-watched video ever on the above-mentioned site. There I am, writhing in pain, swearing at Maki in Finnish to turn the damned thing off, while these pillars pound my chest to hamburger, cables snap and blind my support crew, and a torrent of water floods an unsuspecting Helsinki suburb.

While convalescing, and plotting to kill Mr. Ruotimaki, I was inadvertently administered the solution to my lifelong problem. A kind nurse, Hoikkala Parvatsalainen, bandaged my chestular contusions daily, and in the most simple way: by cutting off the adhesive ends, and placing them on my teetering teats. Not only did the swelling subside after several years, but lo, the nipples were neutralized. Never once did they rise to sea level. Eureka! Ikea! I asked Hoikkala where she had come up with this most simple and likely non-litigable solution. She answered in the way that all Finns do: in a completely indecipherable mishmash of consonants and vowels that is the Finnish language. My head was spinning, but my nipples were suppressed, which I considered answer enough.

These days I keep a well-stocked inventory of inexpensive bandages in the linen closet. So many, in fact, that I no longer have room for towels. Whenever I cut off the ends, I place one each on my precious pectoral protuberances. On the left, I always draw the flag of Finland: white background, with a light blue cross turned on its side. On the right, I inscribe the name of my Finnish Florence Nightingale, but only her first name. And really, not even all of that, since there isn't enough room, and I don't want to waste another band-aid. So, in my concise way, I thank Hoikk, from the bottom of my left nipple, just above my heart.

Thanks for humoring me.