Smacked by my rack

Last September I participated in the 15th anniversary of Critical Mass in San Francisco. It was my first time doing the ride and I wiped out in unspectacular fashion: my back wheel got caught in a cable car groove and I flipped off my bike. It was unspectacular because I was traveling at less than one mile an hour.

Nonetheless, I managed to hurt myself pretty good. I went down hard and landed on my left shoulder. My friends had to drag me to the side of the road, where I spent a few moments in shock; all I could register was that my front wheel was crooked and my left thumb wouldn't work. Nobody had seen me fall, but I suspect that I was thrown over the handlebars. Leave it to me to be vaulted off my bike while practically standing still.

My friends fixed my wheel and my thumb gradually went back to normal, but I sustained an injury to my left shoulder that still bothers me today. It clicks when I rotate it and pains me when I lift my arm straight up. It's hardly a debilitating impairment, but there are certain things that I can't do anymore. For instance, I can't do a shoulder stand in yoga. I can't do certain hoop tricks on my left side.

And I can't get out of my sports bra.

Now to be truthful, I've always had difficulty extracting myself from a sports bra. They're so damn tight and slippery, you've got to pull like hell to free yourself. Many a time I've yanked hard on the Spandex, lost my grip and slapped myself in the face. I guarantee, nothing will piss you off in quite the same way.

I recently decided to take up running again, which required the purchase of a few new sports bras. I found a garment I rather liked: it's black with white piping and cute enough to wear as a top, if I ever have abs worthy of display.

My friend Gina and I went running on Saturday morning. It was a hot, sunny day and I was dewy by the time we finished stretching. We took our first few running steps and I was startled by the Boing! in my chest. "Whoa!" I said out loud. Gina looked at me curiously. "New sports bra," I explained. With serious spring-loaded action.

My buoyant momentum carried me for the first several minutes, but fatigue set in as my body remembered that it's out of shape. I was fairly drenched by the time we finished our run and my clothes were sticking to me. I bid Gina goodbye and headed home to shower.

Once home, I peeled off my outer layer and attempted to shuck the sports bra. Nothing doing. I could not wiggle free of the Spandex straitjacket. I wrenched around to view the back side in the mirror, as if that would help. No hooks, of course.

Flinging my right arm over my head, I fumbled until my fingertips caught hold of the sweaty fabric. I pulled and wound up with both my arms sticking straight up in the air, my elbows strapped to my ears. I felt pain in my left shoulder, so I shimmied the bra back down and planned my attack from another angle.

This time I crossed my arms over my front, grabbed both sides of the bra and pulled. The back of the garment wanted to give, but the front wouldn't come up. It was caught on my chest. My grip was slipping and my shoulder was burning, so I gave an almighty tug...and my elastic bosom snapped up and hit me in the face.

I was bitch-slapped by my own boobs.

My face stung and my shoulder throbbed, and I blasted out a couple of good swears. I couldn't believe I'd survived my first run in over a year, only to be injured while taking off my clothes. These are the kinds of things that happen to me.

But I can't be the only woman who's ever endured this. Right? Surely some of my well-endowed sisters have suffered similar embarrassment? If so, I want to hear about it. Drop me a line if you've been smacked by your rack.

Let me know I'm not alone.