Yes, this is about my boobs again. We’re just over a month out until surgery, and I want to look back on this and remember how desperately I wanted them gone.
What we have here is my first serious sunburn in probably a decade. Not for lack of trying to protect myself, but I couldn’t reach that far with the sunscreen (notice my lily white shoulders). This photo doesn’t do justice to how red and angry it really is. Or painful. So painful. Almost not worth the incredible feeling of freedom the tank top gave me during my ride.
Sleeping is unpleasant but possible, as long as I stay on my side. Sitting at my desk, I feel like there’s a pizza oven working overtime just behind me. And, as I discovered today, wearing a bra feels like searing, fiery bands of lava pressed against my skin, even my softest, least supportive model.
So what was I to do? I usually jump at any excuse to take a day off–my period, vaguely cloudy weather, the arrival of a new DVD. But I’ve finally been making headway, now that I’ve switched to “machine” mode (I stay on the biggest, i.e. hardest, set of gears no matter what, I don’t slow down, and I never stop pedaling, unless I’m hammering down a hill). So no, I wasn’t going to let a stupid bra (or lack thereof) keep me inside. I go to work braless all the time (but, to be fair, if the dogs notice they never complain), shouldn’t be a big deal, right?
I put on a tight tank top (though nowhere near up to the challenge of containing these monsters) and a baggy shirt that wasn’t designed for biking and felt like wearing a quilt for all the moisture trapping going on. I hit the road, and almost immediately realized I had made an awful mistake.
Where do I begin? The flapping. The sagging. The sweating. Never have they felt less like something that belongs on my body. They felt like two super size potatoes bouncing around inside my shirt, two fatty alien tumors. And I felt like everyone could tell they were off the leash. There are two major traffic intersections I cross, and I felt like the world’s least sexy Lady Godiva. I felt THAT naked.
As much as I hate bras, I realize how much they help us ignore the problem. Without one, my boobs hang down well within kicking range of my knees with every pedal stroke, at least in the natural hunched-over position the bike requires. They make shirts fit decently (though not as decently as a flat chest would). They contain the sweat somewhat (so I suppose feeling sweat trickling freely down my torso is something I’ll have to get used to). And that’s about all that recommends them.
I was forced to cut my ride short by three miles, because biking is my happy place and I was anything but. I’d say it was my most miserable, and I’ve had some exceedingly shitty rides.
So, no biking until this burn calms down, and that infuriates me beyond reason. All because of these goddamn boobs.