After whining all day yesterday, I decided to go out last night and buy a new swimsuit for pool running. The last time I bought one was 2006. I don’t need to tell you how saggy, baggy, horrible that black Tyr suit is now. It’s so bad that I have to wear a running tank top over it because once it gets wet, it just hangs in a really, REALLY unattractive way.
And you don’t need any help looking horrible in a bathing suit in January. Trust me.
I had a gift card to the sporting goods store, so I bought this bad boy:
Let’s just pause for a moment and talk about one-piece bathing suits. I generally wear a two-piece. Not because I have some killer abs I need to show off, but because I am so … um, petite, on top that a one-piece just looks dumb. Your ribs shouldn’t stick out more than your boobs. It feels like a two-piece generally breaks up the monotony that is my upper body.
But I’ve been taking the kids swimming at the gym pool on the weekends, and my summer outdoor two-pieces look stupid — hello Hawaiian flowered bikini in January. And my lap-swimming suit was too old to wear. So I’ve been wearing my bikini with running clothes over it, which looks as stupid as it sounds.
So, I went with the one-piece, thinking it would be better for taking the kids, and a good replacement for my old, shredded Tyr suit.
I liked the way it fit, and the pattern took away a bit from the 30AAA area that is my chest (seriously, those are real measurements). I am a baby bird.
But I tried on several suits, including a really nice Nike one that was flattering. Until I saw the back of it in the mirror — there was a strap that goes across your back. Which I think was supposed to be tight. But on me, because nothing in front pushed the suit out, it just hung, in a sad, depressing slack loop off my back.
Yesterday I wrote about my pelvis. Today, my chest.
It’s all quality blogging here, friends.
See you in the pool. (I’ll be the nerd pool running.)