I always admired the young ladies at the stables. It was like they were all cut with the same cookie cutter – tall, slim, blonde, blue-eyed. They always looked gorgeous in breeches and a T-shirt. Dirt and sweat did not seem to deter from their fresh beauty. There were times I was envious of their youth and energy.
Initially, I wore T-shirts, a pair of black stretchy flared pants and regular under garments to riding lessons. I soon discovered that, for the first time in my life, I needed a SPORTS BRA!! I was quite excited about this. I proudly consulted a couple of my jogger friends on what I should be looking for and started my search. It became apparent fairly quickly that women with breasts larger than a “D” cup were not meant to be doing sports of any kind. I fell into this category. I went to my specialty bra store and, yes, they had one model that came in gynormous sizes. It was probably the most unattractive bra I had ever seen – it looked like the pointy model that Madonna used to wear in the 90’s. But, it fit.
My black stretchy flared pants didn’t actually offer any protection to my calves from the stirrup straps. I always had bruises on my legs. I went to my local tack store and after trying on 10 pairs, I purchased a pair of basic black breeches that had a medium amount of elasticity to help stop my thighs from jiggling.
Getting dressed for my next lesson almost killed me. My sports bra was extremely tight. Made sense – it had to hold everything in place. I had to fasten it from the front and twist it around my body. What kind of torture device was this?! I am sure it chaffed off skin as I pulled it around my body. The shoulder straps had no elasticity. I held out one of the very taunt straps and put my other arm through. With great effort, I started to pull the strap up my arm and on to my shoulder. My hand slipped and flew back and hit me in between my eyes at the bridge of my nose with such force that I was knocked back and saw stars. After I wiped the tears from my eyes, I unwrapped my new breeches.
My new breeches seemed a lot tighter than I remembered. I pulled and stretched and pulled and stretched. Did a little jumping up and down dance and they were on. It was almost as bad as putting on control-top pantyhose. I now basically had an elastic band around my midriff in addition to an elastic band around my rib cage. I broke out into a sweat and realized that I couldn’t breathe. My sports bra kept my breasts in place, but it did not allow me to get a lungful of air. I was starting to hyperventilate. I calmed myself down and put on my slightly fitted T-shirt, which accentuated all of the rolls created by the bands that now surrounded my body.
As I walked out the door with my pointy Madonna breasts, my non-jiggly thighs and my neck still slightly damp from sweat, I realized that I would suffer just about any discomfort to be able to ride.
What was I thinking…..?