I started going to the gym again. It’s been a while, as about two months ago I got sick. And then Katrina died. After that, my energy for anything was pretty much zapped. But we started going again. This was after a bike ride that nearly kicked me to the ground, a short one, even.
Every time I go to the gym, I enter armed with incentives. Sometimes, my incentive(s) are simple and other times, they are more complex. (And by complex I mean all over the place, randomly set up just so I can muster the strength to complete my goal.) Some girls come in with bridal magazines. Others think about the Cheetos they had for lunch and how they washed them down with some cake.
On Monday, I went to the gym thinking of Katrina. It’s been months since I’ve really had my heart rate up and considering it was her weak heart that claimed her life; I figured I would run for her, that she would be my incentive. Katrina loved going to the gym. And in my head, since she can no longer do this, I would try and do my best and do it for her. Katrina would become my drive—her heart would. So I ran. I ran and ran and ran for her and then I ran and ran to spite my breasts, my stupid breasts.
It would appear that I forgot my sports bra at home. And I figured it would be OK considering I had a very supportive regular bra on. I was so wrong.
The first half of my run was wonderful. I didn’t become tired. My knee was holding up. When Toby Joe came over to talk to me, I could actually carry on a conversation without panting. It was a great run. (Thank you, Katrina.) About half way through my run, things started to go south. As I sweated more, the fabric became “looser” (that’s really the only way I can describe it). As the fabric became looser, my boobs became freer. They began to bust free (yeah, bust) and that’s when things became ugly.
Instead of stopping the charade, I continued on all the while CURSING at them. (Please excuse my language.)
You stupid fuckers. I hate you. Stop bouncing. I will cut you.
It was as if the twins became human and I was their keeper. I spoke to them as if they were visitors to my body forgetting entirely about the fact that these wicked things really do own me. They make my life a bit harder and I often have no choice but to succumb to them entirely.
And that’s when I entered the ugly cycle of wanting to hate myself. I went from feeling elated that I was equipped with such a positive incentive, to feeling ashamed that I could turn from good thoughts to horrible thoughts so quickly. What an ugly mind.
(Insert more swearing and a lot more personal body hatred.)
I completed my goal and then went to talk to Toby. He was doing some upper body exercises when I interrupted him.
I hate my breasts. I really do. I hate them. I want them gone. Screw shooting up abortion clinics, I am going to gun down women who have breasts enlargements. I hate them, too. Why would a girl add this to herself?
You’re insane. Don’t talk to me, I don’t want people to think I know you.
I laughed.
I’m going to go shower.
And that’s when I realized what I had done to myself.
In the shower, the open blister-like wound was born. As the hot water hit my chest, a blood-curdling scream hit the inside of my head. The pain was so intense, I became a little weak in the knees and for a second, I thought I might pass out. It would seem that the under wire rubbed my chest raw. But that wasn’t the worst part, no. The worst part was where the front clasp once sat. Right in the center of my breasts was an open sore. This is where the plastic piece rubbed me raw. I started to cry. But it’s OK because in the shower no one can tell.
Once out and toweled off, I took a few tissues and folded them up. I put one beneath the clasp and a few more beneath the under wire. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but laugh at the possible conclusion one might come to at the glimpse of my stuffing tissues down my shirt. Oh, would one assumption be the furthest from the truth.
Maybe if I run really fast next time, I can leave them behind entirely. Or maybe if I run for a really long time, they will chafe them down, chiseling them away to nothing.
(From now on, all money made by google ads will be spent on my future breast reduction.)
neosporin, FAST
I want them gone. FAST!
Hey, if it makes you feel any better, the crazy allergies I had when you guys moved out here last year have come back again…..You could be dealing those allergies in addition to this boob catastrophe!
Oh no! That sounds so painful, and I thought my summer shoe blisters were bad…
That’s great about going back to the gym though. It’s hard to get the motivation to go back after you haven’t gone in a while so, much kudos to you! I should follow your good example.
lindsay – i need a spotter, since michele makes me giggle, so grab your weight belt and gloves and creatine powder and meet me there!
I make you giggle? haha Like how? that’s funny.
if you really want a breast reduction, you could just develop anorexia. they tend to be one of the first things to go. though self control, self esteem, and many higher brain functions quickly follow suit.
you should really put neosporin on your open sore though. that stuff makes it heal so much faster.
you make me giggle when i try to do anything serious. i can only imagine you spotting me on the bench. you’d be talking about folks’ visible genitals and camel toes and making faces. you know it!
I instantly looked at your google ads looking for breast reduction links. BUT NO.
“international non-profit youth exchange
organisation” …ppfft.
Hey, any motivation to show up to the gym sounds good to me. I’ll spot you Toby! I’m trying to talk some co-workers into joining and I’m making some progress there and then I’ve tried to convince Jon, but that’s just a pipe dream.
Oh, mihow. You are my new best friend. I can so totally and completely sympathize with you here. My grand and unwieldy bosom is a source of great pain for me, both mentally and physically. The words “breast reduction” are music to my ears. Alas, I do not have the means to reduce my mountainous mammaries to the molehills I long for.
Sigh. Maybe someday…
this story totally reminds me of the time when I forgot to take my sports bra to soccer…..and played anyway.
Ouch!
Ouch, poor you with those mean old tits!
I hate having big boobs, big boobs suck!
a friend of mine, once INSANELY ample chested (she could share her topload amongst 4 or more women and still have enough left over for a good rack of her own), had a breast reduction a few years ago (her parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents – her extended family helped her pay for it). ever since, it’s like she was given a new life.
Can women breastfeed babies after breast reduction surgery?
During this hilarious and very well written post, I was somewhat disappointed to note that TobyJoe did not respond to your breast-hating tirade by saying “What are you talking about? I LOVE YOUR BOOBS!” or something like that.
Then again, I guess you might not want to post that bit on the Internet.
BTW, Pippy (who is 4), noticed that my breasts were bigger than hers, but “not as big as mommy’s”
A woman’s ability to breastfeed post-augmentation depends on the extent and style of the procedure. If a woman has a good doctor who is looking to preserve her ability to lactate, then she should be able to. Otherwise, its kind of a crap shoot on whether or not the ‘necessary things’ are still there, or damaged.
Suffice to say, any woman getting a Breast Reduction from today onwards, has a pretty high chance of breastfeeding adequately.
I’m in the process of writing a screenplay about farming human breastmilk—so i’ve read far too much about this sort of thing.
Anyone know of any good doctors in the NYC area? All the folks recommended to me live in LA. go figure.
P.S. Charlie, you have the greatest children in the world.
God, I HATE the gym, but I go anyway.
I can’t BELIEVE you put your bra BACK ON. Why did you not just go home bra-less?
Let those puppies breathe!
Going anywhere other than horizontal braless is a second worst nightmare. :/
Oh Mihow—this makes me so sad. Be nice to your boobies. Please don’t hate your boobies. And that open sore—gah. So sad.
i thought this was all a joke… this is starting to sound serious.
if it is serious:
michele, you have wonderful breasts. you shouldn’t feel the need to change them. but if you do, all of us internet people will support you. we’ll be your emotional bra.
Owie, ouch, yikes, aaaaaaaugh.
Hey, maybe we could have a breast Transplant!! I could use some ah them thar.
Awwwww, Jon, that means I have the largest, and often times most disturbing bra ever created.
Jon, are you from PEI? Did you do a little film “mothers milk” with Dave Moses? If so, nice! If not… you may want to see it.
awwww – I totally feel your pain – when I mention “boob job,” people look at me like I’m crazy – until I tell them it’s for a lift & reduction – DUH!!!! I’ve had that happen to me at the gym too. What I wouldn’t do to have those nice small perky boobs that don’t need a bra!
Poor Mihow!
I’ve never had a sports bra, do they make that much of a difference? I’m mostly just worried about smuggling rasins at the gym…
smuggling raisins? Is that a euphemism? Or can you not bring food into the gym? Do tell. :]
i failed 7th grade english and was momentarily kicked out of the ‘a-track’ because when we learned about euphemisms, all of mine were overly sarcastic
i have forever since hated that word
‘kicked off the “a-track” ‘
Is that a euphemism?
sarcastic? you don’t say…. ;]
Smuggling rasins is a metaphor for when your….when things…well…stick out…and people can see them….
Shit, I’m such a prude.