Death By Underwire...

Did you watch Ugly Betty. How awesome is that show? I think I'm giving up step aerobics. Not just because of the following story, but I'm bulking up in the butt and legs, and I read in my Michael Thurmond book, that for my body type I should NOT do step aerobics. Walking is better. So....Boring walking for me it is. I'm going to try to find a used Ipod or something at the record exchange to make it more interesting. And I'll do it at the gym on the track, cus it's fun to lap people.

I thought I was hot shit last night at the gym. I did 2 miles on the track before my step aerobics class. I thought, Shit, I'm going to put a riser under my step tonight. I've gotten pretty use to the workout without one, so I wanted a challenge. Nevermind that it's only the first week working out an hour before class, I'm made of steel, right? Wrong.

The whole reason I take classes is because I care what people think, even if they don't think at all. (a wise Dr. Phil once said, you wouldn't care so much about what people thought, if you knew how often they didn't think about you...or something to that effect) If I work out at home, I give up when the going gets tough. But last night, the tough got going. About 5 minutes into the class, my underwire snapped in my bra. At first I wasn't for sure what happened, until the metal worked itself out, and into my boob. It happened in such a way that it either pinched my skin between the two exposed metal ends, or, jabbed me constantly.

So, my mind started: "I need to go to the bathroom. No, they will think I'm pussing out. Tough it out. God my legs hurt. Squeeze. How many more of these can we possibly do? Shit, It's stabbing me. Breathe. OMG I'm gonna puke. Ok, I'll stop moving my arms for a while. I wonder if that's sweat, or blood? My legs won't give out. Oh god, 20 more minutes. I need to go get a drink. Ok, so your boob hurts, big deal. "

By the time I was done talking to myself, class was over, and I got to my car and set free my stabbed breast. Who cares if their lop sided, this was serious business. I was parked near the building, and in between 2 cars, neither of which were girls from my class so I decided to asess the damage, in the least conspicuous way possible.

There I am, left boob in hand, pushed up, fat stomach hanging out, looking in my rearview mirror at my puncture wound when I happen to sense movement to my left. Sure, some guy was parked right next to me. All I saw was his car, and his legs, because God knows I didn't look at him. I pulled my shirt down and turned the other way. I wanted to leave but then he'd get a better look at who I was. As if seeing my rack wasn't a good enough look.

By the way, that was blood dripping down my stomach. I have a nice purple puncture right along the bra line, which feels fantastic today, and looks even better!

Needless to say I'm completely humiliated. I don't even know who it is to hide from him should I see him at the gym. All I know, is he drives a maroon chevy, has hairy legs, and navy shorts. I. Want. To. Die. I keep telling myself that it's very possible he didn't see anything. And at least I covered the nipple!