Posts Tagged ‘i wear two sports bras

Last night, after finishing up a really good workout with my loud trainer, we went to schedule our next meeting.

As we’re doing so, I tell him that I haven’t noticed any weight loss. His response was that I should be looking at body fat percentage, not weight.

So I took this as my segue into telling him how I feel about the size of my boobs and that they contribute to my overall body fat percentage AND that since they are so big, and always have been so big, that I don’t think they should contribute to my baseline percentage. Basically, they’re not going away – they’ve always been as big as they are.  It’s been about 15 years with them, I don’t gain or lose in my chest and I don’t think it’s fair that they mathematically count against me.

So I told him, in a quiet voice, that obviously my breasts are rather large and they don’t change size, and that perhaps we should take that into account, because I would never lose the amount of body fat he wants me to.

Me: “Yes…”
Me: “Yeah, I understand, but I’m trying to tell you that they don’t change. They are always like this.”


I was SO PISSED. First of all, that’s not what I’m saying and secondly, SHUT THE FUCK UP. I don’t need the whole gym to know we’re talking about my damn boobs.

So I told him that: “Could you quit yelling my shit out loud? It’s embarrassing. Also, we’re not on the same page, so we can stop this discussion anyway.”

That got to him, and we finally talked about MY body and what I thought was the problem. He apologized for being so fucking loud. Did he not see me turning bright red? It’s one thing to talk about my boobs in a bar. It’s another to make it the loudest conversation in a gym.

He did say, though, that he would research it and talk to a female trainer to see what her thoughts were. That’s fine, and I was happy with that – we confirmed for Saturday. After I got home, we texted a little bit back and forth after and he apologized profusely for being such a loud asshole: “You’re not the first to tell me I’m loud. I’m so sorry. I have a tendency to holler”

My response: “You can holler at me when I have bad form, but not when we’re talking about my boobs.”

It’s embarrassing enough to have to discuss this with someone I don’t know very well. But then, on top of all of that, I have to worry that he’s going to broadcast it to the entire fucking gym. And honestly, given that everyone’s got an iPod in their ears, they probably don’t care… but I do.

I’ll see him Saturday for my leg workout and talk to him then, let’s see how quiet he is  😉




So I had my first real training sessions with my guy.  We go over the basics (height, age, weight) and just like last time, there’s disbelief in his voice every single time I give him an answer:

Him: “How old are you?”

Me (whispering): “35”

Him (loudly): “35?! REALLY?”

Yes dumbass. We went over this a week ago.

Him: “How tall are you?”

Me: “5’2″”

Him: “Really?!”

Me to myself: WTF?

Him: “How much do you weigh?”

Me (super softly): “120”

Him (super loudly): “Really?!!? 120?? Wow.”

Me: “Ok, are you going to believe ANYTHING I tell you?”

Him (laughing): “Well, I believe you’re a girl.”

That made me giggle too, because let’s face it, he’s staring right down my workout top most of the time.

SO THEN… we do the body fat measure. I have to hold out this stupid machine right in front of me, he input my height/weight/age and it gave a reading.


I looked around to see if anyone was listening. HOW EMBARRASSING! Of course, everyone is just working out with their iPods in and not paying any attention to what’s going on… and I’m sure his loudness was just me hearing things…but still!

So we sit down and he goes on to tell me I probably want to get to 26-27%. I basically looked at him like he had 2 heads because 1) I don’t think I’m 31% body fat to start with and 2) if I am, HOW AM I GOING TO GET TO 26%??? Does he see the size of my freaking boobs? WHERE DOES HE THINK THAT FAT IS COMING FROM?!!?!?  (I mean, besides my muffin top.)

It was a good workout (even if he did make me do jumping jacks – as my friend said, just so he could watch) and I’m scheduled for another session tomorrow. AND tomorrow, we’re taking measurements. I’m sure we’ll do it in the middle of the gym, loudest voice possible, with the numbers beamed up in bright neon for everyone to read. Sheesh!  Good thing he’s cute and I day-dream about fucking him… SOOOO cliche, but fun 😉








I finally decided that I was going to get a personal trainer, mainly for two reasons: 1) They were offering a 50% off special, so I got 30-minute sessions for only $15 each. Not bad…. and 2) for the first time in my life, I need Spanx. I am SO mad and embarrassed for needing shapeware.

So I went in a couple of nights ago to talk the guy and he started with the basics – name, height, date of birth… when I told him I was born in ’77, he looks at me with more than a little surprise and says, “77? Really?”


I AM OLD, ASSHOLE. STOP JUDGING. Just fucking tell me how to lose these 10 lbs and that’s as far as we need to discuss.

But we continue… Him: “So, when’d you join the gym?”

Me: “Sometime in May, I think.”

Him: “Oh, I never see you in here.”

I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I NEED A TRAINER!!! Because my lazy ass doesn’t come in like it should! Sheesh. He’s not helping dismiss the whole dumb archetype of personal trainers. Although he is cute.

But…I totally think it was meant to be. He has the same shitty phone I do that everyone makes fun of me for. How bad could he be?!?

I paid, signed up and have my first session of pure embarrassment next week. Pray for me.

It makes calls and checks email, all with a QWERTY keyboard. I don’t know why people make fun of me… 😉

I went home this weekend to my parents’ place, and with my brother’s upcoming wedding, I thought it would be a good time to take down all my shoes, saris, and punjabis that I’m planning on wearing for the festivities.

Sunday afternoon was the dress rehearsal of clothes – see if anything didn’t fit, needed to be let out or taken in, and how it looked overall.

We pulled the clothes I thought would I would wear and then started trying stuff on – I need 4 main outfits for the just the Indian wedding stuff: the mendhi night, the puja, the wedding and the reception. Sari’s are just six yards of material, so they’ll always drape fine, no matter how much you weigh or how tall you are. It’s the blouses that need to fit perfectly, otherwise the whole ensemble just looks sloppy.

The first sari blouse I tried on was great – it was a ready-made* blouse that was made to “fit all” so it was actually big on me. YES. Mom took the measurements on how much she need to take it in and we were on a great start. (*Usually, blouses are made to measure – a tailor takes measurements and the resulting blouse fits exactly like it’s supposed to – tight, but not vulgar, just a perfect silhouette).

The next few outfits didn’t go so well… blouse after blouse didn’t fit. Me and mom were in giggles…. Then I brought out this sari that I bought 7 years ago, and the blouse that had been stitched, specifically for me. I fell in love with it in India and had been saving it for my engagement. Uhhh yeah. Time to give that dream up, so I figured it’s now or never to wear it (I totally did not tell my mom that’s why I had originally bought it, otherwise she would’ve cried and wailed and wouldn’t have let me use it for this event).  Seven years is a long time, but I really did not think my body had changed so drastically.

THE BLOUSE WOULD NOT CLOSE. And when I say it wouldn’t close, I mean that I couldn’t get the buttons in the front anywhere close to each other. Imagine putting on a front clasp bra, but not getting the clasps withing 6 inches of each other.  Mom let the blouse out as much as she could and handed it back.

It was about 2 inches closer, but again, nowhere near closing… we could not stop laughing. I, in my bra only, hand it to my mom who’s sitting at the sewing machine and we’re both still giggling and mom looks at me and goes: “You need a … boob…. reduction.”

I FELL OVER LAUGHING. I couldn’t stop. Then she goes, “Maybe go with someone who wants to be bigger.” MOM! It doesn’t work that way!

We had the giggles through the rest of the outfit changes because things that fit just over a year ago no longer fit at all. It didn’t matter if the buttons were front clasp or back, because they were like opposing magnets.

In the end, I had to choose my outfits based on what fit, which worked out fine. I’m happy with what I’m wearing. I’m not so happy that 8 of the 10 lbs that I’ve gained has gone to the boobs.  They were already big to start with!

And then, because the clothing needs for this wedding weekend never ends, my brother had told us that for the second ceremony (the Christian one) we have to wear dresses, not Indian outfits (but not mom and the older aunties – they can still wear saris. I cannot even imagine my mom in a dress! That’s crazy.)   In any case, I have plenty of dresses – but they’re all strapless. So I told mom that, and she immediately goes, “Oh no. You can’t wear that.”  MOM. I KNOW. I don’t want to spill out of my dress in front of our family! Now I have to find a  Mormon-chic dress that’s family appropriate.

The next day, we’re at my cousin’s place and my mom says to L: “You look like you’ve lost weight.” Then she whispers, “But not CurryLove. She gained. A lot.” OH MY GOD MOM. It’s 10 lbs! Not 30!!!

We were finishing up with lunch (dosas) and mom was helping in the kitchen, so I went over to see if she wanted me to take over. She asks, “Did you have two?” I said, “No, just one and a half. L and I split the last one. You already told me I need to lose weight.” And she giggles, POINTS AT MY BOOBS and says, “Yeah, especially THERE.”

OMG. Add my mom to the list of people obsessed with my tits.

In my defense, I get nothing but compliments on them! From guys and girls! My friend A thought they were actually fake but then realized as a good Indian girl, that couldn’t be true. She didn’t know then that I wasn’t so good 😉

And Teen Wolf, upon seeing them unleashed, god bless him, said: “I couldn’t have imagined more perfect breasts if I tried.”

Even British, who had only seen a semi-naughty picture of them in a bra and then got to see them in real life said: “Jesus. That picture really did not do you justice.”

And this guy that I dicked around with for awhile: “Man, I’m more of an ass guy, but your tits really are amazing.”

Of course, I didn’t tell my mom all of this. I figure that she doesn’t need to know all of the comments I’ve ever received.  I will keep those for myself (and all my friends that I tell. And all of you that read this.) 🙂

But in the end, I really just try not to think about what’s going to happen sooner rather than later:

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