Boobs with Shoes

Today I discovered the truly shocking fact that when jogging a woman with larger than C-cups could face bouncing of 6-7 inches.  As if the idea of running a 5k didn’t scare me enough already, now I’m faced with the fact that while attempting to accomplish this New Year’s Resolution I face multiple concussions.  Nothing like getting to be a real athlete the old fashioned way, by getting your brains rattled around.

Seriously, I’ve been talking about this 5k thing and the advice I get from my runner friends is 1] get good shoes  2] get a sports bra, you need a sports bra or you’ll die for sure.  Maybe this is why I never took up running.  I mean, who wants to run while getting punched in the face all the while?

My friend Nancy and I, a fellow “big boob”, went to get fitted for shoes today.  Well, first I broke the air-land speed record on the turnpike.  It was fairly empty on the roads, but I had the cruise control set for 80mph and I was still getting passed like I was some granny in a decades old Caddy that has only 10,000 miles on it.  I couldn’t let that happen.  I mean, I might not be able to run fast or even run at all, but I can drive fast.  Today was the first time I actually missed that V8 Lincoln LS I had a while back.  The days of 0-60 in 2 seconds just don’t happen in a 4 cylander Focus.  I console my depression with the fact that I’m getting 30+ miles a gallon if I stay under 80mph.

But I digress.  Nancy and I go to a place called Second Sole, a place that has people who know about running and know about fitting shoes.  Fortunately for Nancy and I we got the parking spot closest to the door—we’re trying to pace ourselves into this thing.  We walked in and this little girl who possibly weighs 80lbs soaking wet asks if she can help us.  I was too intimidated by the “wall of shoes” to make some smart ask remark like “there’s no helping us” or “you’re a psychiatrist too?”.  To be honest, I’m a coward who talks a better game than she walks and this whole running a 5k thing is really starting to scare me.  Nancy told the girl she’d probably regret it but yes, she could help us.

So we got marched to a bench to sit.  Sitting is good.  We’re good at sitting.  Nancy went first (remember, I’m the coward).  She had to take off her shoes and after the rest of the store was resuscitated and escorted to the parking lot; she was told to walk back and forth so the tiny skinny graduate of the Kent State running team could evaluate her feet.  All of her walking back and forth was making me tired.  Fortunately, the store had a dog as a mascot and I stayed awake by telling her what a good girl she was.  Let me mention that all the shoes Nancy got to try on were cool looking and sleek and made her look like a real runner.

Then it was my turn to take off my shoes.

“Oh,” the girl says.  “You have flat feet.  Gosh, I’ve never seen feet like that.  Did you go to clown school?  Well, just stay sitting there, I’ll be right back, you don’t even have to walk around.”  I think Nancy was secretly envious that I didn’t have to walk; but, she’s always hating on me like that and how I’m better than her and stuff.  Anyway, Miss I’m-Really-Cute-And-Perky comes back with shoes for me.  Strangely, all my choices are clown shoes:  neon, purple, red soles and silver with neon green.   “Clown shoes,” the girl says with a shrug that says “Hey, it’s not my fault that McDonald’s has more arches than you.”  (Note the food reference; it was getting to be lunch time.)

I got the clown shoes with the red soles and neon tops with the silver Nike swoosh.  They feel good.  Sadly, they do not have secret little wheels that come out and a tiny little motor to move me along.  But you can’t have everything.

Then the girl looks at us and says, “Do you need anything else?  You really should get sports bras.”

Sigh.

So here I am.  Sunday night, pulling out a credit card and ordering the “sports bra preferred by Oprah Winfrey.”  Yeah, I know.  It could be worse.  It could be the “sports bra preferred by Fat Albert, Minnesota Fats, and Chow Yun Fat.”