Hiking, that’s the cure to my current state of boring, pregnancy approved exercise. While walks bore the heck out of me, and cycling is a little more challenged figuring out good solo routes from home, hiking, it’s golden.
I went on an hour and half hike up Westwood yesterday with a couple of great girlfriends who I haven’t seen in forever. I was a little nervous at first as we met first thing in the morning, right after breakfast, and I wasn’t sure how my blood sugars would handle the exertion. The first 25 minutes were straight up hills, and oh man, while I was huffing and puffing (and believe me, I was) I loved it. I felt free, like I haven’t felt since my last truly good run. I could feel the endorphins shooting through my veins, I could feel the muscles in my calves contracting, working, pushing me up further, and the sweat on my brow, it was sweat I have missed for so many months now.
AND, there was no blood sugar drama. Woohoo!
However, while I loved the hike, my ever growing boobs did not. Squished in a possibly too small sports bra for more than two hours, lets just say they were very, very angry by the end of the day. Yes folks, my breasts are growing and it doesn’t seem like they’re stopping anytime soon – much to my chagrin.
Early on, my six-year-old chest used to drive me mad – when all my girlfriends were budding growths and I was still flat as a wall; when the boys would chase the girls to snap their bras, and they’d catch me, only to discover there was no bra to snap; when I’d forget that I’d stuffed my bikini top with Kleenex before jumping into the pool – but as I grew older, I discovered the perfection of my smallness:
- no breasts smacking into chin when running (which is a good thing!)
- can fit into nearly any kind of top without looking slutty with obnoxious cleavage
- no aging sag
- and a more voluptuous look is just a padded bra away
This pregnancy, however, is majorly changing things. The lovely A cups have been replaced by freaking huge knockers! (By my standards that is) I can’t fit into any of my old bras, and have already outgrown two new ones which were purchased within the time of thumb-sucking alien baby’s growth in my belly. Not cool.
And they have absolutely no benefit to me. I thought maybe they would, maybe finally I could hide my insulin pump in the crevice of my large breasts like I hear so many other much more endowed type 1s doing. But nope, it seems they’re just not quite large enough to do that – not unless I want to start a new trend of square boobs!
Which sucks for dress-wearing season. Normally I wear my pump on my waistband or latched into the front pocket of my pants, and have no problem with that. But for dresses, without large breasts, there’s no where to discretely hide it, other than latched to the top of the dress, under a cardigan – leaving me a good ol’ type 1 hunchback!
Hunchbacks of Diabeticland was first published April 23, 2012.