Tig Bitties

Yeah, that's right. This is a post about my boobs. It may seem inappropriate, but it's not. You see, they are as big (no pun intended) a part of my life as my kids. Maybe more so because I've known them longer.

If there is anyone reading this who doesn't know me (and that would totally shock me), I must tell you that I have very large breasts. Tig bitties is the term I prefer. They were a decent 34D before kids and even though I would get frustrated at not being able to wear certain clothes, they weren't horrid. Fast forward 5 years and 3 kids later. They are horrid. Seriously. Horrid. I have nursed each of these children for a minimum of 3 months each. If you have had children yourself, then you know what has happened. If you don't have children, here is the phrase you need to keep in mind: Dodgeball (not a teeny tiny tennis ball) in a tube sock. I'm pushing it to squeeze them into a 36DD these days.

Ok, so you get the idea. On to the real story here. I joined a gym about 3 weeks ago and have been attending classes very regularly and loving every minute of it. I normally jog at home on the treadmill for cardio and attend gym classes for strength training. Well, today I decided to try the Cardio Challenge.

Did anyone go to aerobics classes in the late 80s/early 90s? Well, I hadn't been to one since college and didn't realize that nothing much has changed. It's still one full hour of as much bouncing as is humanly possible. Jumping jacks, knee-up-and-overs, and let's not forget the pony. I wore a sports bra, but you know what? There's not a sports bra out there than can tame what I've got going on up top. I've tried them all.

So ok, it's bad. I am trying my hardest to do the lowest impact version of everything. I can see myself in the mirror and am just hoping that everyone else is so focused on their own reflection that no one can see me in my light gray t-shirt, bouncing like there's no tomorrow. The class is really, really hard, so I tell myself that no one even cares what I'm doing. They are all just trying to survive. Besides, it's full of women, so it's not like I've got anything they haven't seen before. Right? RIGHT?

Wrong. The class ends with everyone sweaty and exhausted. We begin to put away our benches and weights and then it happened. A woman, no less than 20 years older than me, approaches. She didn't appear to be doing any better than I was. She was breathing extremely heavily and sweating profusely. I assumed she was coming up to comment on how stinking hard this class was. But no. You wanna know what she said to me? She said "Bless your heart. I'm so proud of you for sticking it out throughout the entire class."

There aren't words to describe the embarrassment I felt as two or three other girls, who had overheard her, looked at me and said "Great job."

My husband suggested duct tape for next time.