Keep 'em contained!

Having ascertained that it would be unwise for me to start my running programme without sufficient boobage encasement, I located the nearest place that stocked a ShockAbsorber D+ Level 4 34/36F sports bra and was delighted to discover it was the local department store.
'Marvellous!' I thought (I was having a Jeeves and Wooster moment. Despite the rain, everything was 'spiffing' and 'splendid' yesterday). 'I can detour to House of Fraser on my way through town whilst running a few other errands.'

Off I trotted, list of 'to-do's' in one hand, brolly in the other, repeating the mantra 'When in the House of Fraser, keep turning right and you won't get lost'. It has a funny layout, this department store. Being circular, and bearing in mind I have no sense of direction, I often find myself in there wondering where on earth I am and, more importantly, how I'm going to get back outside without having a panic attack between Lancome and Estee Lauder. You daren't pause for a moment near those counters or you'll be bronzed and filled before you can say, 'Go easy on the trout-pout.'

Corners are the answer. You can't go wrong with corners.

Anyway, in I went, zipping past Cosmetics and through Expensive Handbags, Strappy Sandals (on sale - up to 70% off), past Tiny Dresses that would just about fit a pencil and into Lingerie Land. All was quiet. It was early afternoon. The store assistants, having dealt with the lunchtime rush, were now circling and sorting their 32AA's from their 48J's. They were eyeing me suspiciously. Okay, I was looking a bit raddled and bedraggled, what with having walked a mile or so in the wind and rain, trying to stop my brolly inverting. But my money is as good as anyone's and I wasn't going to be intimidated by some snooty store assistant.

Now, where were the ShockAbsorbers? I thought, I bet they haven't got my size. Ignoring my mantra of sticking to the right, I turned left, and THERE THEY WERE!! Hurrah!!!

I scuttled over to the display. Now, there are 4 levels of support in the ShockAbsorber range. I was looking for level 4. I need all the help I can get. I didn't want funereal black, I didn't want vamp red, I wanted virginal white. Found them!

I rifled through the rack. Depending on how the brand fits, I am either a 34F or 36F, the former of which sizes can be a bit tricksy to find sometimes. But no, there were white level 4's in both sizes! I gave both sizes a surreptitious stretch. The taller of the two store assistants (lingerie dept) was peering at me over the top of the Triumph range as if to say 'Will you please stop yanking on the bras like that.'

'Would you like to try them on?' she said, when she realised I had caught her staring at me.
'Yes please,' I said. I was keen to re-enact the Bounce-ometer experiment and see if this bra really would make a difference.

The store assistant unlocked (yes, unlocked ) a changing room for me. I was a little worried about the unlocking thing. I mean, what kind of activities go on in the lingerie dept at House of Fraser that you need to keep the changing rooms locked? What kind of establishment had I wandered into? And would my theory of turning right get me out safely before I was kidnapped and sold for 6 camels?

I entered the changing room. Luckily, I wasn't locked in. I had control of the lock from inside. Phew! The changing room was thoughtfully lined with 4 full length mirrors and sparkly bright overhead halogen lighting that enhanced the red and blotchy, exercise-induced rashy tones of my decolletage, neck, rib cage, lower back and upper thighs. Not to mention the muffin top, cellulite, dubious vein on my right calf and startled look on my face when I got an eyeful of the full effect in all 4 mirrors.

Never mind. I began my Bounce-ometer experiment. Joggity, jog, jog, jog in standard brassiere. Hmmm...yes, definitely some up and down movement there although not too bad. Difficult to ascertain round and round and in and out movement. I didn't feel as though I was disappearing in and out, but who knows?

Off with the standard brassiere (gentlemen, please avert your eyes. I would. No, honestly. If you don't, I'm not being held responsible your therapy bills. This next bit is for ladies only).

Joggity-jog-jog.....WHOAH!!!!!! Ye Gods!! Aaaaaarrgghhhh!!!! Whew!!! Panic over. Just stand still a moment or two to let things settle.

On with the ShockAbsorber D+ Level 4 36F. Joggity jog, jog, jog.....JOG, JOG,JOG!! Oh yes! I moved. The bazoomers stayed put. I tried a couple of experimental star jumps and whacked my hand on the changing room wall.

'Ouch! Fuffin' fuff, fuffity, fuff!' I yelled, a totally involuntary response, I don't generally swear.
'Is everything all right in there?' enquired store assistant.
'Yes. Fine!' I squeaked, shaking my hand and trying not to get blood from my grazed knuckle on the nice cream carpet.

I emerged from the changing room, red-faced and puffing, but triumphant! Perhaps that's why they lock the changing room doors...

Anyway, I am now the proud owner of an all-encasing, 100% functional and fully washable, breathable and decidedly unattractive sports bra. I hope it's worth it. I hope it prevents any further southward migration of my bosoms as I joggle my way around the park.

There's a song that springs to mind right now. You might know it...

'Do your boobs hang low? Can you swing them to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow?'

I forget the rest...something to do with keeping your knees warm I think...

Is this where is goes?? Modelling new sports wear.

Boobs!

It was a peculiar weekend. Andy worked on Saturday morning, and then Heather went off to a party with her 'Mum-approved' friend Elliot before heading back to uni. Then Sunday seemed to shoot by with allotment work and Jean visiting. And before we knew it, it was Sunday evening.

'I'm going to try the nettle beer,' Andy announced. 'Want a sip?'
I had a sip. It was okay, but it's not going to become a habit. Andy drank a pint and became bizarrely hyperactive for the rest of the evening.
I settled on the sofa to read about running. It's a complex business, you know. You might think it's just putting one foot in front of the other faster and faster, which basically it is, but there are CONSIDERATIONS to be er, considered. Like footwear.

Now, I choose footwear like I choose most things - by colour and texture. So, on those criteria, I shall be running in a nice pair of deep burgundy velvet pumps with possibly a trim of tiny purple feathers and a dash of pink satin ribbon. I'm not a great fan of shoes, I have to admit, mostly because I have short wide feet and until the fashion industry woke up a few years ago and livened up their short fat foot range, I was pretty much consigned to the kind of style my granny would have worn in her dotage. I much prefer bare feet. But I appreciate I am going to be running where there is likely to be all manner of delights like chewing gum, broken glass and dog poo, so I need to get decent trainers. I considered wellies because sometimes I run in wellies at the allotment but it always makes me laugh and, quite frankly, I don't think my pelvic floor muscles are up to a 5k run in wellies.

I have a pair of leggings. They make my legs look like blue parsnips - all chunky and lumpy at the top, tapering to skinny ankles at the bottom. I plan to even out this imbalance by wearing large cover-your-bum T-shirts. There is a lot of talk in running clobber fashion about 'sweat-wicking' fabrics and 'breathable' fabrics and fabrics that make you feel cool even if you are puffing like a train and purple in the face with exertion. However, until I discover what 'sweat-wicking' is I'm going nowhere near these items. A nice cotton t-shirt will do for now.

And when you are running, there are bits of you that go up whilst other bits are going down and heaven help you if the two should meet if you make a sudden stop. And this is where I had the most startling discovery of the evening. Not only to boobs go up and down in running mode, they go in and out and round and round too! Good grief, I thought, they sound like completely independent entities. I must find suitable control so they don't go off and run their own marathon.

On the advice of the fitness magazine I had bought last week, I visited www.shockabsorber.co.uk which contains a useful tool called the 'Bounce-ometer'. I read the information on the site then followed the instructions to enter my cup size into the 'Bounce-ometer' and wait for the download to do its stuff. Two minutes later I am staring open-mouthed at the computer screen.
'Look at this!' I shrieked to Andy, who was over half-way through his pint of nettle beer.
Andy looked.
'Eeeeeeekkkkk!!!' he shrieked back.

Go on, ladies. Check it out, if you dare. And be prepared to be amazed/ amused and/or startled.

Anyway, once we'd both gone through the stages of shock and hysteria and stopped laughing, I set about designing an 'Activity chart' for myself and Andy.
'It's to track our daily activity level,' I explained, once Andy had finished his pint of nettle beer and was nicely agreeable to any plans I wanted to implement. 'Suitable activities are walking, running, jogging, gyming, swimming, Wii-fitting, dancing and allotmenteering.'
'What about sitting and slumping?' said Andy.
'No,' I said. 'Definitely no sitting and slumping. 'Look, there is a column for you and a column for me...'
'And the third column?' asked Andy.
'For my boobs. In case the 'Bounce-ometer turns out to be true,' I said.