I remember being 11…12… 13 years old. Waiting for things to start happening to my body – specifically boobs (yes, this is going to be that kind of post – Dad if you’re reading you’ve been forewarned). I remember other girls getting theirs early – a girl named Angie was the first in our class, I seem to remember she even wore lace bras in 7th grade?!? (And that was in a Catholic school!) Like most girls I anxiously awaited some signs of development. I don’t remember what age I legitimately needed to wear a bra but I do know that eventually things popped out just fine.
For a while I was pretty darn happy with the set that God gave me. They were on the larger than average size though by no means huge. You could say things were looking perky in that department even. I had no issues, no complaints.
Then I had three children…. Then I turned 35… and let’s just say things are not exactly looking up anymore. In fact you could say the outlook is downright droopy and probably well on its way to sagging. Why am I telling you this? Because I am currently somewhat obsessed with my boobs again and it’s driving me crazy. See, In the past year I have developed a new found joy in the strength and achievement of my body. I run.
And I chafe. And I bounce. And I am uncomfortable.
I find myself on a quest for attire with words like ‘compression’ and ‘high impact support’. Basically I need something to smash ’em in and hold ’em tight. It’s an expensive quest and it is beginning to drive me and my sore boobs crazy.
Oh I wish I could go back to my 12 year old self and tell her to not wish so hard for breasts. Seriously, an A cup would be plenty sufficient… certainly less of a drag. There are many trials of being a woman but when you’re young (and firm) you have no idea that one of the things you spend so much time showing off (hello, cleavage!) will one day be one of the stupidest trials of all. Damn boobs.
four months later… an update
So after this post I went on a bra buying quest. I’d buy a bra and run in it, see how it felt, where it rubbed and inevitably have to go out and buy another. I’ve got a drawer full of bras that I can only wear when cross training or on a run that goes no longer than 3 miles, and even then I still chafe. UGH
I am happy to report, however, that the quest is now over! Nike’s dri fit running bra is my savior! No chafing, no discomfort – hooray!