Filed under "Something ELSE I have to do while in Colorado in January":

For several months now, I've seen recommendations for a company called Title Nine Sports. I finally researched them tonight, and it turns out they're a woman-owned company whose sole intent & purpose is to design and sell sportswear for women — and NOT just women whose cup size is an A or B.

Yeah, that's right. Turns out I'm not the only woman doing serious exercise who wears greater than a C cup. Who knew? Not me!

Did I mention they have a store in Denver?

Oh dear. Oh wallet.

* * * * *

A mark of how much things have changed in the past few months: I'm starting to consider the possibility of wearing just sports bras to the gym.

I own a couple of sports bras now, but wouldn't dream of wearing them to the gym right now. They cover, yes, but they're really intended to provide sports-bra-style boob squishage & restraint to someone who wears a B or C cup.

(Depending on perspective, the accuracy of the bra design process, the phase of the moon, and several other heretofore-undetermined factors, I wear either a 38D or DD.)

My daily runs of 45 minutes, if done in the sports bras I currently own … well, I wouldn't be able to finish the run, because I suspect my breasts might actually, physically, detach if I did.

(I strongly suspect this would be detrimental to the run.)

In perspective, it's not so much about "considering the possibility" as it is about realizing that I no longer give a damn who looks at me while I'm working out. I still have about thirty pounds left to go, and am sitting right on the cusp between a size 16 and 14 … and as long as my bits are respectably covered I just dare anyone to make comments about what I wear to the gym.

Yeah. C'mon. Bring it. Not only will I laugh at them, I'll invite them to work out with me on a daily basis. We'll see how long they last.

Bets?

* * * * *

I've realized something over the past few months - something that, back in January, I never dreamed was possible: that yes, I will have scars all over my body for the rest of my life, but that I rarely, if ever, care about them any more.

I've gained, and lost, but until recently mostly gained, a lot of weight since I was thirteen years old. I am covered in a myriad of scars and stretch marks to show for it. They serve as a permanent marker of the changes my changing weight inflicted on my skin, and for the longest time, they embarrassed me. I had never seen another person with them, and they were my secret shame — as if my very inadequacy was so inherent, so permanent that it deserved to be inscribed on my body for the rest of my life.

Except…

There was a day, a couple of years ago, when I was chatting with a friend; as we were talking, he was working on hanging an object on a nearby wall. His shirt rode up slightly. I unintentionally caught a glimpse of his waistline — and recognized a set of silvery marks whose origin I immediately knew. This was a friend whom I had always perceived to be physically attractive and, to my surprise, I realized that the marks didn't change my perception of him.

I wondered if, perhaps, the same could be someday true of me.

It may have always been so for others, but in the past few months, and since August especially, this has become true of me.

I will have scars for the rest of my life, and I will not hide them. I have earned this body, both its strength of muscle and permanence of its scars, and I will not apologize for it any more.

* * * * *

I know it seems strange to get so excited about finding places like Title Nine Sports, and being able to buy a sports bra. Understand that I'm still somewhat of the mindset I've had to be in since I was fifteen years old - that I, and the items of clothing I could wear, were to be hidden away, undesirable, in the back of the store (if stores even carried items I could wear), and that it was up to me to accept what few items of function and fit I could find.

After ten months of work, I sit on the high end of a size 14 right now, and am beginning to learn the world of difference between making do with the less-than-acceptable because it is my only option … and having the option and opportunity to get the clothing that I need — and want.

Every time I find something like this - bras, underwear, clothing, anything really - where suddenly I fit in when I didn't for so long, it's another piece of my life back. It makes me feel like less of a freak, and more of something I've wanted to be for so long: a normal woman.

Normal is clicking on a size chart on a clothing retailer's website and wondering "What size am I?" instead of wondering if you'll be able to fit into anything they sell at all.

Normal is finally being able to buy the kind of hosiery you've wanted to wear for years, but couldn't find in your size.

Normal is a sports bra that truly fits, and believing that you have the right to wear it.

(I think I know what the rest of my birthday money is going to purchase.)

Want to try out what music I'll be running to tomorrow? Go to mannheimworldwide.com and click on "U.S.E. album." That link points you to a free, legal download of United State of Electronica's album U.S.E. They sound a lot like Daft Punk.

While you're at it, go buy a copy of Flogging Molly's newest album, Within A Mile of Home. Put on "Tobacco Island" and prepare to run your ass off.

Been there. Done that. Today, actually.