Dressed in attire ready to run down Spring Flat, I stood on a stool, destroying the last thick layer of dust on top of the book shelf in my childhood bedroom. I was dusting the trophies my dad told me not to throw out because they are a "reflection of who you were." I know the sad truth that they are just a reflection of my forced participation and a reminder of the time I was booted from my netball team for being "butter fingers."
The positive now though, is that I am active and I was ready to go for a run. As I dusted the last bit of the shelf, I remembered that yesterday my sports bra hadn't given me the ideal support, so today I had worn an extra layer, for extra support. I decided there and then, that I should test out just how supportive this extra layer really was.
I stood on the stool and jiggled lightly and everything seemed to be in order. I jiggled again, harder this time and much to my horror I was no longer supported, but I don't mean my chest, I mean the bloody stool underneath me had a tanty with all the jiggling and came out from underneath me!
I lay on my bedroom floor with my duster still in hand, boobs still supported and a bit shocked. No damage. Went for my run. Boobs were supported.
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