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| My boobs are, thankfully, no where near this huge-mungous! |
Hmmm. I was going to tell you something but I forgot what it was. Oh, wait! My running kick. The seed of an idea starting taking hold in my mind during my search for a social club. I was home one evening while The Boy went out for drinks and it dawned on me that I have no social network of my own. I was devastated! *cue major dramatic angst* It wasn't a happy realisation. So I decided I better do something about it. I've been home for two years now, for Pete's sakes, with very few friends and a tiny social network to show for it. I mean, I've met people. But it was through my previous lah-di-dah job roles, when I was racing up the corprate ladder at blinding speeds, where the people I met were so bored with themselves and their money and their lives, they would stick their heads up their own asses, partake in copious amounts of coke daily, or some other prescription drug and alcohol mixture. And all they could talk about was money, what their money would get them, sex, drugs and how to make more money. Bo-ring! And not the type of people you become serious about making friends with. The few lovely friends I have made since moving to SA have bloody well pissed off to go and live in the ass-end of nowhere. (Deep breath!)
Moving on... so I thought about social clubs. Dance was, of course, at the top of the list. I've joined a belly dance school who are very keen to have me join their troupe and start teaching (again) as well. Now all I have to do is get away from the office on time so I can make a class. In the middle of all this thinking about social clubs and making friends and not becoming an everynightearlytobed-housewife-type-hermit thing (like that could ever happen to me, dahling!), I started having dreams about running. Some smarty pants will no doubt tell me that has something to do with me wanting to run away. What-ever. I'm good at running away. This was different though. I could see the road, hear my breathing, feel the stress ebb out of me with each stride I ran, see the difference to my body. Running started haunting me. For weeks.
As it happens, I ended up having dinner with a potential new friend, who is a runner and boxer (and a well known and kick-ass writer and journalist). Simply put, she inspired me. I decided to get my finger out and 'Just Do It'. Two days later I went to the Nike shop with The Boy and gots me some kick-ass new trainers bay-bay! Oops. Apologies. Slipped into my LA ghetto girl accent there.
Here's the thing about running with (big) boobs. It fucking hurts. And it looks ridiculously stupid. So, before the Nike shop, I went in search of a NASA-space-material extra-strength sports bra. ...The Boy was there too and patiently sat and waited while I shamefacedly tried on a half dozen bra's. My lover did not need to be involved in this debacle but I couldn't tell him that I'd prefer to go alone. Then I'd have to explain why and that would lead to unsexy boob bouncy stories and I wasn't about to do that. He really doesn't need to know about the whole boobs smacking you in the eye thing. Ha ha ha. That was a joke. Promise.
Thankfully he didn't come near the change room, where I fought (until I was red in the face and had my hair flying all over the place with static) with material I found impossible to stretch without the help of a Sumo wrestler, hooks and clips and fasteners and strap adjustments, and other sports bra rubbish, having to run backwards and forwards from the change room to the floor to change sizes and colours because they had useless sales staff. Frantic! Every time I was back on the floor, The Boy spotted my red, frustrated face. Aaarrggh. Shame and humiliation. I gave up finally, 5 bras later, and went with the pulloverthehead, no straps, fasteners, no anything one. I ended up buying compression leggings as well, which are mighty sexy, I may add. Way to sexy to use for just running...
I discovered that the secret to keeping your (large) boobs in place while attempting to run is to wear two sports bras. A normal, under-wirey one, and a stretchy no under-wirey one over it. And, et voila! No booby jiggle!
So yesterday, in my no booby jiggle gym gear, I hit the treadmill at my gym. I was rather tentative to begin with. The last time I ran was in the Femina 10k Fun Run in the 90's, before leaving for the US. My boobs were two sizes smaller then. I was also worried about my knees. Belly dancing, specifically, kills your knees! But in the end I overcame my concerns and did 2kms on the treadmill (the gym put a 20 minute limit on the machines in peak hour). Of those 2km's, I ran for 0.8kms, at a gradient of 2 and a speed of 8.5k's. I then moved over to the cross-trainer and did another 20 minutes of "running". I was breathing harder than I should've been and my heart rate was crazy off the charts, but...I was a bit impressed with myself.
And now that I've broken the procrastinating and am doing something about improving my social life, I plan to keep it going. Wish me luck!
The running thing has been done with the hope that I'll meet like-minded people doing something motivating, positive, fun and healthy. I'd rather grow my social network this way, than by following the road I did before. Don't get me wrong, I still love to party, but I now know that life has so much more to offer than just that.
God, it's scary to grow up!
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