Kitty Fisher

Size-positivity, feminism, self-esteem crises, ginormous tits.

Archive for April, 2008

breaking radio silence

Posted by Kitty on April 23, 2008

Just popping in here to explain that i briefly ran away to London, for personal reasons, but while I was here, I leapt at the chance to pop into the excellent and world-renowned local bra shops for a fitting.

I’ve been looking forward to visiting one for literally years, about three years in fact– I discovered Bravissimo online about 3 years ago and it changed my life, as I have probably recounted. Since then I’ve been daydreaming about visiting one in person.

I got do to so today.
I also got to go to Rigby & Peller, a world-famous lingerie shop just off Saville Row in London, which is known for rigorous and truly professional bra fittings.

Neither of them had anything that would fit me. The R&P fitter offered to pin up the bands of too-large bras so that I could alter them at home.
$140 for a bra that still doesn’t fit.
I’m seriously considering it.

So, anyway. Am in London. Seriously depressed. Drinking in my hotel room. Will curl up under the bed and eat sock lint. I had this fantasy, that somewhere, over the sea, somewhere they stocked more bra sizes, and I would go there, and I would be revealed as normal. Or at least, socially-acceptable enough to walk into a store and buy something and walk out feeling good.

Perhaps it’s kind of a body dysmorphia. I don’t know. I’ve lived with these breasts for years, though it’s only in the last few that they’ve really grown into something unmanageable. (Well… OK… no bras have fit me since I was 13, which is 15 years ago now. But still. I was once successfully fitted into a 36E. I was 18. Things have changed since then. A lot of things.) I’ve had these breasts preceding me everywhere I go for my entire adult life. And try as I might, I just can’t see them as being that big. They’re not. They’re not that big.
Am I delusional?
I don’t know.

But. Long story short, I’m a freak. And it’s really upsetting me. So, more booze.

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Exercise Addiction

Posted by Kitty on April 14, 2008

I have become addicted to exercise. I just feel creaky when I don’t do it, and I am so much happier and more full of energy on days when I have exercised. My roller derby team has a bye this month; we bouted last week, and do not have another bout until the end of May/beginning of June. So we’re regrouping, at the moment. I had planned on taking it easy this month. I was injured over the winter, and as I was trying to get myself rehabilitated, I was totally flattened with the flu and then this sinus thing. So I’ve been struggling to get back in shape. I made it for last week’s bout, and performed adequately, but did not have my reserves of stamina of yore. (Last season I was the emergency sub– I was never too tired to go in, though I wasn’t very good, so towards the end of the bout, when the more skilled girls were starting to get wheezy and shaky, then I’d sub in more and more– because I wasn’t much good, but at least I could keep moving.)
So I’ve made a goal this month: I will exercise every day, but it will be something fun. Gardening, a bike ride by the river, a walk to the ice cream parlor, a boogie skate session, etcetera.
It hasn’t at all worked out. I’m on a committee, so I keep having to go to practice to talk to people, and I wind up skating. This morning I had to meet someone at the league practice in the morning, and then had to come back eight hours later for my team’s practice.

At team practice tonight, our coach decided that among other things we would work on our conditioning. I do not think it is any great secret that our team has a bit of a fanatical bent to it when it comes to conditioning; it was widely remarked upon by our supporters and detractors alike after our first bout that our main strength was that we just kept skating really fast. (As tactics go, it’s not a very advanced one, but the thing is, it can kinda be pretty effective. If you watch our league’s bout footage, the bouts we’re in tend to be at a noticeably faster pace than the ones we’re not in. Not really a surprise: our coach is a speed skater, so he teaches what he knows, and lets us sort of figure out the rest.)

So today’s joy included… twenty-minute sprints. Basically. It was a complicated drill, but that was what it boiled down to. (You theoretically got intermittent breaks, but the ‘breaks’ were proportionally rather small.)
This morning’s practice?
Well, a bunch of the drills were practicing whips and pushes. Those mean that you give a whip to your partner, which slows you down; you therefore have to sprint to catch her and get in front of her so that she in turn can give you a whip. What’s that mean?
Oh, it means you sprint for twenty minutes, pretty much.

By the middle of tonight’s practice I felt rather like I’d been through a meat tenderizer. I was wonderfully limber, able to cross over very deeply and able to flex and bend like a yogi. But I also was almost totally unable to actually exert any power with said muscles. They were so loose they no longer contracted.
(Though I did get some compliments for my performance during the sprints, so evidently I had *some* strength left.)

It was kind of a nice feeling. Having the two workouts so widely spaced was nice too in that I wasn’t constantly burning with fatigue. I’d had a chance to re-oxygenate and all that. It was hardly painful, in the grand scheme of things.
(My cramps, incidentally, are totally gone. I don’t think any of the muscles in my body want to contract anymore. It’s nice.)

I don’t want to become a total exercise addict. I don’t want to get all weird and crazy about it. I don’t want to make a habit of this having two intense workouts a day.
Because why?
Because I don’t have time to exercise that much, and what’s worse, I don’t have time to eat enough to support that level of exercise. I have mostly stopped using Sparkpeople.com, because it’s very much about weight loss. Even when I first joined, I was a bit dismayed by the ambitious weightloss regimen the “automatic” type program (where you just gave it info and let it tell you what it thought your specific goals ought to be) projected for me. (I think it wanted me at 160 over the course of 6 months!) It let me step that back (I put down 185 over a year and it obligingly adjusted for me), and the site itself is not so specific, but it still was pervaded with references to weight loss.
Anyway.
I went there just now and entered today’s cardio. They don’t have roller derby, but they do have “rollerblading/skating”. How many minutes?
Hm… four hours… minus breaks…

According to its calculations, I burned over 2,500 calories today.

I certainly did not eat that much. I don’t know what I would have to eat to eat that much. I had a two-egg omlette with green pepper, tomato, garlic, cheese, and bacon for brunch. I had mashed potatoes and scallops for dinner. I had a big bowl of defrosted frozen blueberries with whipped cream, and a handful of chocolate chips, for dessert.
I just entered all that into SparkPeople and it barely makes it to 2000 calories once I remember to add in the glass of milk, the glass of juice, the beer and the can of pop I had today.

Calories in / Calories out is bunk, and I don’t want to be burning more than I take in. That’s a good way to fuck up your metabolism. I don’t want to make it so that my body becomes used to having to hoard energy because I don’t give it enough fuel. (Unrelated: it would be really nice if cars could be convinced to do this, however.)

I do feel really good tonight though. I’m sticking to this workout thing, I think. But I’ve got to make sure I have more foods in the house that will make me feel good to eat– not “good” as in virtuous, but good as in, not cramped or gassy, not hungry, not food-coma-y, not stuffed, not logy, not bloated. I need to pay better attention to my body, since I’ve been demanding so much of it. And I probably should take it a bit easier than I did this weekend.

I feel really good tonight.
We’ll see if I can walk tomorrow.

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pain, metaphorical and not-so

Posted by Kitty on April 2, 2008

I was working on a post about body image and perfection and body parts and things, but I’ll have to finish that up later, as something’s come up.

As a large-busted woman since my early teenage years, I’ve had a troubled and conflicted relationship with that particular area of my body. I used to deal with it by wearing ill-fitting bras and trying to ignore the whole thing. Then I got a bra fitting at the age of 18, in a department store in Glasgow, Scotland, and realized that there was nothing to be ashamed of. But then I came back to the US, where my size doesn’t exist, and spent about ten miserable years combing through the sales racks at Penney’s trying to find something, anything over DDD, and failing, and sliding back into thinking there was something wrong with me. It wasn’t until my late twenties, close to a decade after that first bra fitting, that I finally put two and two together and started looking online for British bras.
Duhhhhhh! (Imagine that sung as if by a choir of angels.) Bravissimo.com. Figleaves.com (which, shortly before my first order, opened up a US shipping warehouse and a US page with prices in dollars). Trial and error, several emails to Bravissimo’s helpful customer service, and lots and lots of money in shipping for returns later, I finally had my size. (Me: “Well, I have a 38DDD right now, and it’s about, eh, maybe three cup sizes too small and two or three back sizes too big?” Customer service: “Er, wow.”) My size was 34G.
Then I gained a little weight. But not in my ribs. Only in my tits.
Oy.

Anyway. It’s been a long and troubled relationship. I currently don’t own any bras that properly fit (I have a few 34GGs but they’re not… quite… it), after a brief span of about 8 months during which I had a beautiful and varied perfectly-fitting bra wardrobe. But at least I’m not ashamed anymore. (But oy, $70-100 bucks a pop to last me under a year? Painful.)

(Before I get to the point of this post there’s another tangent to explain back story.)
Part of the revolution in my self-confidence that spawned this finding-my-real-size and stop-being-ashamed kick was joining a women’s amateur flat-track roller derby league. I’ll certainly get into this in more depth, but we’ll just say finding a sport I loved really helped me appreciate my body, which is chubby and clumsy and I’ve never really had a good relationship with, especially not since the Oh Now I Have Huge Tits betrayal.

So I participate in this rather insane sport. (But it is a real sport, and it does have real rules, and there really is a point to all of it. For a visual explanation of in bad Uncanny Valley CGI, you can’t beat Gem City’s Intro to Roller Derby.)

I was at practice last night and the opposing jammer went sprawling right in front of me. Even if I could jump (mama don’t jump) I couldn’t jump that far– she was laid flat out, right at the track boundary, and I had nowhere to go, with no time to take a knee or something. This girl was about half my size, so as I was going down, Hindenburg-like, I was terrified of hurting her. (Opponent or no, nobody really wants to hurt anybody. I’ve hurt someone and it really sucked and I felt bad about it for oh, I still feel bad about it, but I’ll let you know when I stop.) My pelvis landed on her head, pretty well-cushioned and not too forcefully, but the full force of my landing?
WHAMMO! On the floor. Right on my boobs.
I rolled off her, and she got up and sprinted off like some kind of mutant wheeled gazelle (curse those tiny girls and their easy relationship with gravity! But their very tininess makes them easier for us women of greater size to launch, so I shouldn’t complain so much). I staggered to my feet, both arms wrapped over my chest, and skated after her. Onlookers thought I’d hurt an arm or shoulder. No, man. The impact had squashed my rack, compressed my ribcage and forced all the air out of my lungs, and I was in so much pain I couldn’t see straight. But I finished the jam! I didn’t lay out any more big hits, but at least I kept up.

My boobs are so sore. It stabs in my right one whenever I breathe. I’ve tried wearing a really supportive bra, to take the weight off, and sometimes that hurts and sometimes it doesn’t. I’ve tried wearing a less-supportive bra, and ditto. I’ve tried briefly wearing no bra, but that hurts a lot. I’m considering putting on a corset. I do own one really nice steel-boned one…

This isn’t my first breast injury, but it’s my worst. (The last time, well over a year ago, I bruised them on a front-first landing, but I wasn’t as good a skater so somehow my boobs hit, then my head whanged off the floor chin first, so I was a lot more concerned afterward about the concussion than I was about the boob bruises. Thank my mouthguard I still have all my perfect teeth. The time before that, I just got brushburns on my cleavage from using the wall to stop– I was a very new skater when that happened.)

Has anyone else ever hurt their boobs??? We talk metaphorically about them giving us pain all the time, but I’m seriously sitting here with an ice pack. I don’t even know how to tell if it’s serious.

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