So let’s talk about the boobage. Before the (straight) guys get too excited, fair warning, this is no soft-core. You want the lithe young lady running barefoot and preferably nude on the beach with those perky peaches gently bouncing? Not so much. That’s not how it goes for most of us. I, myself, have never bounced. Flapping is a better way to describe what my breasts do when I run without proper support. And it hurts like a mofo.
I have not bought a new bra since my last time training for a race and those lovelies no longer fit me, sad to say. You would think I’d be happy about my boobs being bigger. It’s what every guy wants right? The bigger the better the tighter the sweater go tits GO! Again. Not so much. First of all, when you gain weight, you tend to gain it everywhere. The inflation that comes from nursing has mostly calmed down and well…turned to deflation. They look like sad balloons now. The party has ended. Except the nursing party hasn’t ended. I fear it may never end. This kid is not interested in solid food in the least.
Have you ever heard the song Detachable Penis? Well I’d like some detachable boobies. They’d come in handy in at least a couple of instances. When the baby is using me as a pacifier I could just take ‘em off and plop her in the crib happily sucking away. I might even loan them to my husband when I just want to sleep and he...doesn't. It would be great for when I run too. And maybe then I wouldn’t get the honking. What is with the honking? I look like crap and I’m dragging my fat ass through the rain. What are you honking at?! WHAT?!
So I need a new running bra because the nursing bras are sad. Oh and nursing in public is tons of fun in these suckers. I can picture the designers cackling evilly to themselves as they put the most ridiculous snaps and hooks on these damn things. “HA!” they say, “Just let ‘em TRY to nurse discreetly in this. They’ll either look like they’re trying to feel themselves up or like a bug crawled down their shirt!” But wait! Don’t just buy them for the public humiliation they also offer a complete lack of support!
I do not enjoy bra shopping. It is not my fun thing to do on a Saturday afternoon. Ooo yes! Bring on the fluorescent-lighted dressing room horror! So, generally, I just guess my size and buy what looks like it’s going to work. I know. Oprah would be horrified at me. Fuck Oprah. You heard me. Fuck her. She probably has a personal bra fitter Me? I get the overworked-underpaid-couldn’t-care-less teenager at Kohl’s. Jogging bras? What? Whatever’s on the rack, lady. I’ve got a display that somebody’s kid just destroyed to re-stock. So I usually guess wrong and either end up with a too big bra and the painful flap or too small and the uniboob. The uniboob is what happens when your breasts get mashed together into one indistinguishable lump. It doesn’t give them the ability to make bombs or write rambling manifestos.
Can I just take these things off?