Bound without bouncing Object lust

My dad's a track and field coach. His dad was a track and field coach. Mom ran cross-country, my older brother and younger sister were both collegiate sprinters, and my youngest sister throws the discus, hammer and shot put. Me? I was a swimmer and hated to run. It wasn't boring laps around the track that bothered me. I could handle throbbing knees and splinty shins. My problem with running was that my breasts were too big.

I wore a size 36 D when I was 14. By the time I was 18 they had ballooned into DDs. Run with glands that size flopping around on your chest, and you'll realize why some people refer to breasts as "knockers." They bobble and bounce to their own rhythm, making your shoulders ache, your nipples raw, and sometimes whacking you on the chin if you're going downhill. I wanted to be active, but whenever I broke into a run I felt like a cow, trotting along with udders a-jiggling. Water (and tight swimsuits) gave enough support to neutralize my wayward mammaries, so I stayed in the pool. But in the off-season we were still required to cross-train, and there was always gym class.

I had to figure out how to restrain my breasts, but no one bra seemed to do the trick. First, I doubled up with two sports bras, compressing my rib cage and lungs to the point where I saw stars. When that no longer provided even minimal motion control I tried one underwire "reduction" bra with a sports bra on top, but the resultant chafing opened horrible wounds on my nipples and the undersides of my breasts, which oozed, then left jagged scars. By the end of my high school athletic career, I'd developed a system involving Vaseline, an Ace bandage, and yet another constrictive sports bra. Then I injured my shoulder, and seemed finished with sports for a while.

When I left college four years later I had gained 80 pounds. Unable to swim, I began casting about for something I could do to become physically fit again, always trying to avoid running because of the embarrassment and pain my breasts caused. Rowing? Club dues are too expensive. Cycling? I'm blind in one eye; I'd probably kill someone. Pilates and yoga lacked a competitive element. Running was really the only thing I could do. I actually began considering breast-reduction surgery.

But then, lo! A messenger of salvation came, in the form of a co-worker and her Title 9 sportswear catalog. "You will never, ever move if you wear this," she said, pointing to a bra the copywriters had labeled the "Last Resort Bra" from Enell. "I own three of them." Her breasts were larger than mine, so I decided to take her word that this was the best thing going in buxom athletic gear.

I ordered the bra while my class was at lunch, wincing at the $60 price tag. When it arrived the following week I grew nervous: it fastens up the front, with a hook-and-eye closure? It's made of what, satin? And, good God: There's no underwire!

The proof, however, was in the plodding. I went out for a slow test-jog along the lake. After two miles I was out of breath, had aching knees, and a stitch in my side, but I could have cried for joy: My breasts had stayed put, in perfect comfort, without sacrificing lung capacity. I went home and plunked down another $75 to register for the Chicago Marathon, my first. I've run four more since then, and dozens of shorter races.

The Enell sports bra has allowed me to become active again without shame, pain or Ace bandages. It's not only a miracle in terms of bounce control; it's also the most durable bra I've ever owned. I use mine for at least an hour a day, five or six days a week, washing it in the sink and leaving it to dry overnight. It has lasted me nearly four years.

I've lost 75 pounds and am able to run, jump and enjoy sports for the first time since childhood. I can enjoy a solitary run on the lakefront to relieve stress. I've made new friends through running clubs. One wall in my apartment is covered with bib numbers and finisher medals: signs of tangible achievement that have encouraged me to get organized in other areas of my life. When I'm visiting my family, I can go for a run with my dad.

-- Rose Judson

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