Boobs: give them a sporting chance
June 7, 2016 § 8 Comments
I would like to make my boobs available.
No, not to you, pervert. Sit down.
I would like to offer my boobs for testing on a new, effective form of sports bra for large-breasted women. This is a thing that has not yet been invented. Trust me, I’ve looked.
This never used to be a problem. For much of my life I was a respectable C cup, with the kind of boobs that were just big enough to make fried-egg women look at me with envy. And you know what they say – more than a handful is a waste. They were pretty damn perfect, those C-cups.
And then I fell pregnant twice, and got fat. And when you get fat, your boobs grow, which means I now have a pair of Double Dangs, which are quite lovely when you’re horizontal, if you know what I mean (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) but entirely unsuitable for almost anything sporting.
And the thing is, I no longer want to be fat, and this means having to do things like run, jump, skip or perform star jumps. And every single one of those activities requires boobs that don’t move. Mine move. A lot.
They move so much that if I really tried, I could probably give myself a pair of black eyes. And so a sports bra is required.
The supreme irony of sports bras and sports clothing, is that it’s designed for the sporty. I can understand this, of course. This is the target market. Trim, lithe people who enjoy exercise. (Freaks.) Except, that’s not the whole picture. Some of us weren’t always this fat. We got this fat for various reasons, and now we no longer want to be fat, which means exercising, however odious the idea may be. So we need something comfortable (clothing) and supportive (sports bra) to work out in. Ha! Good luck with that.
I’ve been searching for tracksuit pants to go walking in and all I can find is low-waisted, skinny pants designed for pulling halfway up your leg so you look gangsta. Trust me when I say it is very difficult for a rubenesque middled-aged woman to look gangsta in these pants, or indeed, at all.
Sports bras aren’t designed to look gangsta, but they are designed for people whose ordinary bra size is around a 34A – precisely the sort of person who barely needs a bra at all. The biggest sports bra size I’ve seen in a shop has been a 38B. Either they’re not making them bigger, or gangs of large-breasted women regularly raid the sports shops and make off with the bigger sizes.
They’re also terribly designed. Every sports bra I have ever owned has been less supportive than the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders I strap these babies into every day. The everyday bras aren’t supportive enough on their own either. So if I want to go for a brisk walk, it’s the normal underwire bra underneath the sports bra. If I want to go running, I have to put a supportive tank top on over that. And then there’s still a fair amount of bouncing, albeit not a lot of breathing, given all of that constriction in the chest area. It’s like running with a self-inflicted asthma attack.
Some years ago I was jogging around the park opposite my flat, and a short, athletic woman came running lightly past me. She ran about 10 metres ahead, then doubled back and jogged beside me, peering at my chest. “How do you run with those?” she asked, no doubt comparing my then C-cups with her own barely-theres. I shrugged, and she cast me a look of great sympathy before speeding off into the distance, nary a bounce to be seen.
It was bad enough before they were Double Dangs; now it’s a disaster. If I want to do a star jump, for example, even with two bras on, I can do the leg movements, but not the arm waving. Because it takes both hands crossed firmly over my chest to keep my fun bags from knocking me out. Ditto any running. In fact, running is best done on a treadmill in the privacy of one’s own home if you have proper knockers. Otherwise, people do wonder why you’re running down the road clutching a cantaloupe in each hand…
We live in a time where computers do the most amazing things, with electric cars and smart phones and the very real possibility that Elon Musk may free us from the evil clutches of Eskom. We’ve put people on the moon, and explored parts of Mars, but we can’t invent something comfortable for women with big boobs to wear while they’re exercising? It beggars belief.
That’s why I am making this very serious offer. My boobs are yours to use, sports clothing manufacturers. I will bounce around (although not on a trampoline as they give me motion sickness) and allow you to prod and poke these babies in the service of big-breasted women everywhere.
One of you must be up to the challenge, surely?