Tag Archives: kate gosselin

Erin Go Braless

18 Mar

Yes, that is Kate Gosselin out running away from her eight kids; most likely repeating her “I’m not a quitter” mantra over and over again until she summons the strength to go back to them. Anyway, this isn’t a post about Kate’s running or her flat stomach. Much as I love thinking about it. And this post isn’t about Saint Paddy’s day. This post is about bras.

I had totally forgotten that today was St. Pat’s and then yesterday, while walking out of my yoga studio with no bra on, the above-referenced phrase popped into head. It was an accident–the no bra thing. I just forget to bring a change of “intimates” with me to the studio and therefore, had to go grocery shopping sans support. I had a moment of being all weird about it and feeling guilty and worrying that some mom in Milam’s would end up slapping her hands over the eyes of her young son before accusing me of public indecency. But that faded pretty quickly.

To all you busty ladies out there debating whether or not this is possible for you, I say go for it. If only for a quick trip to the grocery store. Maybe my advancing age has me caring less and less about what other people think or maybe I was in a state of coffee withdrawal-induced melancholia. Regardless, here’s what I noticed:

There is a lot of breast in this town, people. Real and fake, young and old, and very often, on prominent display. Miami is boob-happy and my bra-free set was hardly the most outrageous or obscene kicking around Milam’s last night.

It just dawned on me that this post might get the wrong kind of attention.

Whatever. No publicity is bad publicity.

I’ve oft been jealous of the small-busted fitness-focused ladies I see out running in nothing but old school sports bras–you know the kind Kate is wearing in that pic, made of stretch cotton with absolutely with no real support? But in this town, I’m more often confronted by the sight of massive, glittering, silicone orbs spilling out over bikini tops and heading in my direction on South Bayshore at 6 in the AM. I give those girls their kudos. Running with melons is difficult. Especially when they’re strapped to your chest.

I fall somewhere between champagne glass and cantaloupe. For most exercise, I swear by the Lululemon Tata Tamer. I’ve had some issues with bathing suits but recently bought myself a Waterpro Unitard and I love it. When I run, I also wear a Trek compression tank that’s a size too small. It’s hard to get on and off but boy, when it’s on, I feel boobless. And that’s a good way to feel when you’re running for 90 minutes.

Mind you, not when you’re on a date. Please don’t misinterpret this post as some kind of self-loathing account of why it sucks to be well endowed. It doesn’t. Except when you’re bouncing down the street or up and down on a trampoline. Although I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who would disagree with my assessment that big breasted girls on trampolines sucks at all.

I know there are a lot of gals out there right now who will end up braless at some point in the next several hours. To all who drink Guinness and flash strangers on the street, I salute you! But drink a lot of water and take two Advil before bed tonight. If the hangover doesn’t getcha’, the whiplash surely will.

Slainte!

Brains on the Brain

9 Mar

Yesterday was a real crusher. I skipped the 6am group swim because I’ve been feeling really tired lately and, this being a race week, I opted for the extra 2 hours of sleep over the pleasures of swimming at sunrise. I’ve been wondering if I might be over-trained but I got lazy with the resting HR check every morning and my Polar has been on the fritz so I’ll admit, I have no idea where my Zones are these days.

Regardless, I’m glad that I “slept in” because the swim on tap was another 2,550 yard beast. I did it by my lonesome and finished 2,200 yards in the allotted 60 minutes–the balance took another 15. I was proud of myself. Not two weeks ago, I was barely swimming 2k in the same amount of time.

Mentally, this was a rough workout. After a 500 yd mixed warm up, I had to swim 3 sets of 5 x 100s with 30 seconds of rest between each sub-set. Does that make sense? Whatever. It was never-ending. I hit my stride around the middle of set 2 and then I hit the wall towards the end of it. That’s when I had to start talking to myself.

I had to remind myself that I’d already gone twice as long as I will have to go in the race on Sunday.  The training is hard because it has to be, I told myself, remembering what Lee, my boxing coach used to say: Freeform girls never cry at fights because they get all the crying out in training.

I do, from time to time, think about quitting in the middle of a workout. Mostly in the pool but sometimes during a bike and occasionally on runs when speed or incline is a factor. Actually, it’s not full-on quitting I consider; I consider scaling back on intensity, taking it easy, giving myself a break. And then I don’t because I’m not a quitter. Which gets me into trouble sometimes.

Kate (Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m about to include a mention of her in this post) Gosselin was profiled in a recent issue of Runner’s World. She said that when her mind starts to focus on quitting, she recalibrates by having this conversation with herself, “Are you a quitter?” “No.” “Then why are you thinking of quitting?” “I’m not.”

It’s a little long but it really works in the middle of those long swims. So I’ve got the Twilight Zone, my friend Susan’s,”It’s the last fucking mile/lap/interval/etc..,” and Kate Gosselin’s psycho-chat rolling around in my positive self-talk arsenal.

About mid day it hit me that I didn’t have another workout to deal with until Saturday morning. And then it hit me that I had completed my swim workout and I was like, “Wait. I swam 2,550 yards today? And I’m capable of sitting at the head of this class and sounding moderately intelligent?” What I mean is, the mental aspects of these endurance training sessions are bizarre because before you’ve completed them they seem about as possible as scaling an office building with your bare hands. But then you complete them and that means that they’re totally doable. But I think we tend to forget all about that when the next session is upon us. Why can’t we just tap right back into the post-workout feeling of accomplishment and ease?

I went to the doctor today for a follow-up to discuss the results of my balance testing and MRI (all is well for those of you who are interested to know) and I got to look at my brain. Well, images of my brain, anyway. From various angles. I’d never seen my brain before. The doctor said it looked like a good brain to him. No sign of sickness or disease.

Looking at my brain, I found it amazing to consider that this lump of white stuff is responsible for all of this: these questions and these mantras and this blog and everything else. You can’t think about brains if you don’t have one. You can’t objectively analyze your brain because it’s your brain that powers the analysis. Every move I make, my brain has something to say about it. And sometimes my brain tells me to do something and then it tells me I can’t and I have to tell my brain that I can and then my brain concedes. But then who am I? And isn’t my brain a part of me? Or am I a part of it?

Obviously, I’ve got brains on the brain. Because I am working on a project that involves thinking about brains. A LOT.

Ultimately, the best news of the day, other than learning that I do not have a tumor in my ear canal, was seeing that my resting heart rate was 47 bpm.

So I guess I’m not over brained. I mean, trained. I’m not over trained.

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