I’ve started working out with a trainer, I’m taking Muay Thai classes, I’ve cut out white flour and starches, I’m down to half a Dr. Pepper and up to 5 bottles of water a day, my lunch staple of Chik Fil A has been replaced with grilled chicken salad, and, most impressive of all, I’m EMBRACING the change. If that’s not the road to Superhero-dom than I don’t know what is.
But the Training continues; today was gym day.
One of the biggest challenges in trying to get fit and healthy isn’t walking by Auntie Anne’s Pretzels and having to pass on their Buy One, Get One Free deals. It’s not having to control yourself when you buy a bag of Ghirardelli chocolate and caramel squares for a party and most of them come back home with you. Heck, it’s not even having to go to work after your muscles are so tired that tying your shoes becomes an epic feat on par with scaling Mt. Everest. My biggest obstacle on my road to the New & Improved Me is actually…me. OK, more specifically the Girls. You know, my chest, my tatas, my chest-bound boulders that are forever causing pain during vigorous movement. It’s really difficult to keep those puppies in place.
Only those who have likewise been mammarily blessed will understand the singular, frustrating, uncomfortable, and often downright painful sensation of jogging without proper support. But even our support isn’t all that supportive. For the most part we have 2 options:
1.) Find a cute sports bra that works to some extent, buy 2, and then layer ’em up using the combined power of double lycra and double spandex to hold those suckers in place.
2.) Spend close to $100 for a sports bra that will force the Girls up and in until they have been so squashed together they are known among the female crowd as “unaboob”. Unaboob occurs when a sports bra flattens, redistributes, and molds your breasts until they no longer resemble 2 separate boobs, but one giant lump…positioned right in the middle of your chest. Trust me, it’s not pretty.
Last night I was lucky enough to find a sports bra that bridged the gap between functional and fashionable, and I wore it with pride when I went to the gym today. My usual routine is to start out with a warm-up–15 minutes on the treadmill, walking 1 minute then running one minute. Everything was going great until around minute 5, when suddenly I heard a snap and something felt a little too loose. It was the right strap of my sports bra. I immediately downshifted to walking mode and tried to assess the situation. I was hoping the strap had just come loose from it’s hook–an easily fixed problem. I discreetly checked down my shirt and caught a glimpse of the frayed strap. No such luck, that sucker was busted. I guess I should’ve checked to see if there was a weight limit before squeezing myself into it.
So here was my dilemma–after another 10 minutes of treadmilling it I was supposed to meet with the trainer
so he could turn my arms and legs into jelly and my lungs into something that sounded like Darth Vadar. It was going to be much more difficult to execute any exercises with one Girl packed in and the other one hanging free and loose. For the first time, I had no extra clothes since I had planned on showering and getting ready back at home when I was done, so no back up bra. I had my old one at home but by the time I got there and back to the gym, it would be time for me to turn around and head back home. After missing out on Monday’s workout due to an MIA trainer, I didn’t want to go back home. Given that the gym is located smack in the middle of shopping central, I figured my best bet was to go buy a new one. I popped in to the trainer’s office and let him know that due to a wardrobe malfunction, we were going to have to start our session a bit later and then I hightailed it to the sports store.
My walk into and around the store was an exercise in muscle control. I was trying to hold my keys and my wallet (no purse) while keeping my right arm tucked in close to my body to help support my wayward Girl, but also looking around and digging through rack upon rack of sports bras. I found a few candidates and then went to the dressing room. I tried them all on, doing the jump-up-and-down-in-front-of-the-mirror move to test their control factor. While not completely satisfied (the Girls were contained but there was still too much “wiggle” room), I managed to find one that would work, paid for it, and rushed back to the gym where I got in my workout.
I had to go through all that just so I could voluntarily sweat buckets and push my muscles to the point of begging for mercy. This Superhero stuff is hard! But at least I’ve learned one lesson. When it comes to my Superhero costume, I’ll leave the fitting to the professionals.