Melissa Ethridge came out with a song a few years ago about running for charity. I think it had something to do with running for breast cancer research, as she publicly battled the disease and is a breast cancer survivor herself. The tune of that song sometimes goes through my mind as I'm preparing for my runs or as I'm running. It's catchy and noble.
I'm all for the breast cancer research cause (my mom is a three year survivor). I'm down with Relay for Life and Susan G. Koman and all that. But we all can't be Melissa Ethridge. She runs for hope and life and light. I run for some pretty ignoble reasons.The first being about three months ago I was "let go" from my previous relationship of four years. Needless to say it was a shock, a nasty one at that, and I was not in agreement. But there was nothing I could do about it - he was done and drove two hours to my apartment to inform me that we were breaking up. If I hadn't been too stunned to move or form coherent sentences at the time, I would have punched him. It took a month or two for the numbness to wear off and my anger has since bubbled right to the surface. It takes a lot of effort not to punch the first guy I come across in Wegman's or the movie theatre or the waiting room at Midas. Running has become the way to channel all that emotional garbage that comes with, to put it very literally, dumped. So reason #1: I run so I don't punch someone.
On a related note, I will have to see this person who handed me my walking papers this May at the wedding of a mutual friend. And I don't just want to look good for the sake that I'll be in her pictures for the rest of time. I want to look "shoulda put a ring on it good" so he'll know exactly what he's lost. I'm positive he knows already, but it's more fun to rub it in. If my invite signifies I can bring a date, you bet I'll get someone from the local running club to come with me, just so we can talk about running around him and our other friends. Reason #2: I run for spite. And to look good/be healthy. But mostly spite.
As my social life has taken a turn, a lot of my free time since becoming single has been spent in my apartment, on the couch, with books, a lot of TV, my cat, and chocolate. I love reading, TV, my cat and chocolate (not even necessarily in that order!) but it gets old after a while. I also sit at a desk 80% of the time at work. I'm a fairly extroverted person, and I need to get up and move. Otherwise I just keep eating chocolate and if I do any more of that reason #2 will not work as well. I also need to make friends in Ithaca, rather than sit around idly pining for my friend group in Rochester. When it's nice enough to consistently run outside I'll set up a membership with the Finger Lakes Running Club and hopefully meet people through group runs and local races. I'm already signed up for two 5k's! Reason #3: I run because I'm bored.
As a child of the 80's, I can just say no to illegal drugs and tobacco with the best of them. Nancy Reagan would be really proud of me. I can also say no to things like blind dates, country music, sushi, and working weekends. What I can NEVER say no to, is Disney World. WDW is my drug of choice (sorry Nancy, I guess I did find something to develop a dependency on) and when some of my favorite INTERCOT friends began talking about meeting up at the 2014 Marathon Weekend event, I couldn't resist. We just have way too much fun together whenever we're all in the same place, especially at WDW. So when the runDisney events became more and more popular among the members of this awesome website, I made the decision to join them. The interest in actually running any of the races during the marathon came much later. Reason #4: I run because I'm a band wagoner.
For the second music reference of this entry, I quote to you some Les Miserables:
And show your Honor,
you see it's true,
That man bears no more guilt than you!
Who am I?
24601!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Bra Rah Rah
All the busty ladies! All you full figured gals! Commiserate and cry into your D cups with me tonight.
I have just returned from the sports store and am shocked that I actually was able to find not one, but TWO sports bras that not only fit, but support and decrease as much jiggle as possible. What's more, I don't have to double layer them! Yes, this isn't a hologram! It's actually me wearing only ONE sports bra and feeling good about it. I can breathe and run, at the same time. Alert the media!
For years, probably close to 20 of them, I've had to wear a bra of some sort. Not out of the ordinary for girls, but since then I've had to go to the shall we say "extreme" end of the spectrum when it comes to work out or dance attaire. As a ballet dancer by trade for more than 20 years of my life, I've squeezed my girls into countless twinkly little bodices held up by no more than twine, some dental floss, a lot of duct tape and prayers that I wouldn't turn any production into something out of Showgirls after two grand jetes. Remember that scene in Shakespeare in Love where Viola, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, reveals to Will that the actor he thought was a male is actually a female? And how she undresses in front of him and he holds one end of the gauze she used to bind her boobs down (like she has any to begin with, I mean look at this lady) while she twirls and giggles? That never happened in the choir-room-turned-changing-area of Norwich High School during Nutcracker intermission. It was more like, "hey, it's hard to breathe with all this athletic tape and three Ace bandages constricting my rib cage." "I know. Let's go get McDonald's after the show!"
And we would. And it was delicious. Because nothing makes a slightly chubby and top heavy 14 year old feel better about herself than fried processed chicken product and fries. And a shake. And an ice cream sundae. With nuts.
Needless to say, no matter what my weight - from 175 pounds at my heaviest to 135 at my lightest - I've had big boobs. The letter "A" has appeared zero times on any tags on any items in my underwear drawer since I was nine. Let's face it, they're here to stay. So what to do about them? I wish there was a man in my life who would appreciate them, but I have a moderate dislike for them and the sweater department at Macy's has banned them due to over stretching the merchandise.
For a culture that mostly glorifies large breasted women, we certainly seem to get punished when it comes to shopping for "unmentionables." Ever pay attention to what certain sizes and styles of bras are called? Anything from an A to a 36C is usually something flirty, sexy, and socially desirable like "Angel" or "maximizer" or "miracle." Anything upwards of that is MINIMIZE MINIMIZE MINIMIZE. "Full coverage" is my personal favorite. It's code for hide those things before you hurt someone! Translation: if you are smaller breasted flaunt it, but anything above a C do everything you can to cover them up, fade into the background and just count your bra size amongst your many other flaws. Walk into a Victoria's Secret sometime and look at the sizes out on display. The lacy, colorful, patterned ones that always have a matching robe and panties. See anything above a C on the racks? Nope, you have to bend down (but don't worry, your massive & heavy mammaries help with the momentum), open a drawer and there you have your choice of two colors, which usually happen to be white, tan, or grey. Where's the hot pink bedazzled zebra stripe pattern on the mannequin? Sorry, doesn't come in your size because large boobed women have NO personality and it should reflect in your bra color. But don't fear! The helpful sign in the dressing room (oh, I haven't even BEGUN to think about the dressing room yet. I'll save that for another blog.) says "want more styles, sizes and colors? Shop online 24/7 at VictoriasSecret.com" Awesome! Thanks for letting me know that because of my chest size I should stay at home by myself and shop where no one can see me. Because retailers can't be bothered to provide the same experience to someone who wears a DD as someone who wears a B. I'll just leave and get in line at Auntie Ann's now.
After all this ranting, I'll get back to the actual inspiration for this, my second official blog entry. I actually found sports bras that fit. I'll spare you the rant I gave my roommate when I got home about how a halfway decent sports bra for big boobs cost $25, and that was the cheap end of the spectrum. The point is, they actually exist and I honestly would have paid three times that amount if it means I can work out and start to move toward my fitness goals without having to put on layer upon layer and hope that it's enough to get me though 30 minutes of jogging on the treadmill. But it shouldn't be this much of a victory.
Maybe after a couple months of exercise and good nutrition I'll go down a size or two, but I really hope they don't change all that much. For all the ranting and raving and frustration, I actually really do love my boobs. And I think sometimes they even love me back.
I have just returned from the sports store and am shocked that I actually was able to find not one, but TWO sports bras that not only fit, but support and decrease as much jiggle as possible. What's more, I don't have to double layer them! Yes, this isn't a hologram! It's actually me wearing only ONE sports bra and feeling good about it. I can breathe and run, at the same time. Alert the media!
For years, probably close to 20 of them, I've had to wear a bra of some sort. Not out of the ordinary for girls, but since then I've had to go to the shall we say "extreme" end of the spectrum when it comes to work out or dance attaire. As a ballet dancer by trade for more than 20 years of my life, I've squeezed my girls into countless twinkly little bodices held up by no more than twine, some dental floss, a lot of duct tape and prayers that I wouldn't turn any production into something out of Showgirls after two grand jetes. Remember that scene in Shakespeare in Love where Viola, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, reveals to Will that the actor he thought was a male is actually a female? And how she undresses in front of him and he holds one end of the gauze she used to bind her boobs down (like she has any to begin with, I mean look at this lady) while she twirls and giggles? That never happened in the choir-room-turned-changing-area of Norwich High School during Nutcracker intermission. It was more like, "hey, it's hard to breathe with all this athletic tape and three Ace bandages constricting my rib cage." "I know. Let's go get McDonald's after the show!"
And we would. And it was delicious. Because nothing makes a slightly chubby and top heavy 14 year old feel better about herself than fried processed chicken product and fries. And a shake. And an ice cream sundae. With nuts.
Needless to say, no matter what my weight - from 175 pounds at my heaviest to 135 at my lightest - I've had big boobs. The letter "A" has appeared zero times on any tags on any items in my underwear drawer since I was nine. Let's face it, they're here to stay. So what to do about them? I wish there was a man in my life who would appreciate them, but I have a moderate dislike for them and the sweater department at Macy's has banned them due to over stretching the merchandise.
For a culture that mostly glorifies large breasted women, we certainly seem to get punished when it comes to shopping for "unmentionables." Ever pay attention to what certain sizes and styles of bras are called? Anything from an A to a 36C is usually something flirty, sexy, and socially desirable like "Angel" or "maximizer" or "miracle." Anything upwards of that is MINIMIZE MINIMIZE MINIMIZE. "Full coverage" is my personal favorite. It's code for hide those things before you hurt someone! Translation: if you are smaller breasted flaunt it, but anything above a C do everything you can to cover them up, fade into the background and just count your bra size amongst your many other flaws. Walk into a Victoria's Secret sometime and look at the sizes out on display. The lacy, colorful, patterned ones that always have a matching robe and panties. See anything above a C on the racks? Nope, you have to bend down (but don't worry, your massive & heavy mammaries help with the momentum), open a drawer and there you have your choice of two colors, which usually happen to be white, tan, or grey. Where's the hot pink bedazzled zebra stripe pattern on the mannequin? Sorry, doesn't come in your size because large boobed women have NO personality and it should reflect in your bra color. But don't fear! The helpful sign in the dressing room (oh, I haven't even BEGUN to think about the dressing room yet. I'll save that for another blog.) says "want more styles, sizes and colors? Shop online 24/7 at VictoriasSecret.com" Awesome! Thanks for letting me know that because of my chest size I should stay at home by myself and shop where no one can see me. Because retailers can't be bothered to provide the same experience to someone who wears a DD as someone who wears a B. I'll just leave and get in line at Auntie Ann's now.
After all this ranting, I'll get back to the actual inspiration for this, my second official blog entry. I actually found sports bras that fit. I'll spare you the rant I gave my roommate when I got home about how a halfway decent sports bra for big boobs cost $25, and that was the cheap end of the spectrum. The point is, they actually exist and I honestly would have paid three times that amount if it means I can work out and start to move toward my fitness goals without having to put on layer upon layer and hope that it's enough to get me though 30 minutes of jogging on the treadmill. But it shouldn't be this much of a victory.
Maybe after a couple months of exercise and good nutrition I'll go down a size or two, but I really hope they don't change all that much. For all the ranting and raving and frustration, I actually really do love my boobs. And I think sometimes they even love me back.
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