I do keep saying I’ll get back to dance – and then I never quite do. Last week wasn’t altogether a success, although I put that down mostly to the weather.
The problem? It was hot, clammy, humid. So, whilst my dance prowess seems, at last, to be beginning to come together and I am actually anticipating many of our lovely instructor’s moves…I was quite quickly feeling ill.
That and…the boobs, again! We’re obviously in the middle of some sort of growing phase. Last night, I noticed that the B-cup, which for so long had been ever-so-slightly ill-fit is now full. Quite full. And therefore at this rate of progress, C is definitely on the cards.
That’s the good stuff. The real downside is that along with the rapid growth come growing pains, the like of which I haven’t had before. Or maybe I have, but differently.
Anyway. I now find myself hugging my chest if I have to run up or down stairs. Swearing at any clumsy passer-by who looks like they are about to back into me on the tube. And generally treating them like precious crystal.
And dance. Last week, not even a fairly tight fit crop top would do the job. So to the general discomfort from it being hot and sweaty, add the fact that every time I did anything that caused the slightest jiggle, my instant instinct was to clutch my chest. Which of course, i couldn’t: not in a hall filled with other women, anyway.
So about 15 minutes in, I wimped out and went and sat down. I felt faint and for a few hours that day I worried ever so slightly about my past heart condition. Irony of ironies if that decided to resurface shortly after I had the go-ahead on surgery.
But I think not. Everyone was uncomfortable. After about five minutes I was back on my feet and moving again and by the end of the lesson I felt like I was enjoying myself. Once more. Fiona, my delightful confidante and partner in dance was just about surviving. And Siobhan, our instructor looked like she’d taken a shower with her clothes on.
Humidity. That’s the problem. Humidity and fast-growing boobs.
Siobhan advised tighter tops and stuffing savoy cabbage leaves down them. I think she’s serious and I can sort of see the point as therapeutic treatment. But an hour of dance with cabbage next to your skin. Eeeeyuw! I can see how that is going to end: badly, with icky green bits all over the floor.
I’ll take it easy – and watch out for the hot and sticky days in future.