I remembered one time when my daughter had a friend come over to play. They were so quiet and so absorbed in drawing that I had to see what they were doing.
Lo and behold! They were drawing boobs. Her playmate was drawing a pair of huge U-shaped breasts while my daughter was drawing something like an egg with a yolk in the middle. I was that double A figure.
Did I get mad? No. In fact, I remembered my childhood.
I didn’t want to grow up and mature. Hairy pubes? Pimples? Menstruation? Count me out. And to top it all off, I was a late bloomer. I didn’t remember much about my pubescent years because well, there isn’t much to say anyway. I remembered that the well-developed girls in my class had to find a good place to hide whenever they changed PE uniforms, and I laughed about it. Until I reached my twenties.
In those years I wanted to have the body of a normal woman. My lower half had good, child-bearing hips. But how about my boobs? Nope, still no development at all. Even push-ups and wonderbras didn’t help my double A assets.
Then I became a mother at age 26. The best part of it? I finally grew up to a full size B! Oh, how I loved the silhouette. I loved the cleavage and took every chance I got to show them off.
But it was too good to be true. When my daughter turned 18 months I waved goodby to my maternity wear, and sadly, my inflated busoms.
Today at 37, I look at the mirror and see a pancake, an ironing board, a plank. Suffice to say, I don’t have such a great asset up there. I advocate to my kids how you should be comfortable and accept your own body, but sometimes I doubt myself from time to time.
Should I go the path of breast augmentation just like the thousands of women today? Nah, I don’t do silicon, or dye my hair and all that. Can I get ample boobs if I put on weight? No, it will only affect what I have now, which is a curvy figure.
Thinking about it all, I could see the silver lining- I am aerodynamic. Built for speed. So I did just that- I took up running after a friend suggested I accompany her. It was a natural fit, and before long I was doing 50km runs twice a week.
Then, while lining up with the other women runners, I had a revelation. Maybe I had the advantage this time with my smaller rack. I didn’t have to contend with bouncing water balloons. There was no extra weight and no wobble. I am streamlined, and the only difference between them and me crossing the finish line was my fitness (or lack of it).
Nowadays I don’t bother with sports bras anymore. I run in a non-padded top and it feels really great. Maybe it’s the age, or that I couldn’t care less the older I get. I accept the fact that I can never get cleavages or look awesome in a swimsuit. But in high intensity exercises, I am the clear winner.