I’m a superstitious athlete. That means I have a lucky bra, lucky socks, lucky undies, lucky shorts, a lucky way to tie my shoe laces and a lucky way that I do my hair before a game. When I was younger, I did things a certain way because it was lucky and completely jazzed me up before a game so that I could go out and play hard. Now that I’m older, I see my lucky stuff for what it is: A combination of luck, skill and routine that let me get into a head space where I’m ready to play, go hard and be the best that I can be, if not the best on the court/field/pitch.
Today, while sorting through all of my laundry, I came across my old lucky sports bra! I had to sit back and laugh at this old ragged thing. I remember getting this bra with my dad when I was 15. I picked it out because it was reversible and was my schools colours, blue and white. I could switch it back and forth to match my home and away uniforms!
I tried to try it on and and came to a stunning realization of how big my boobs have gotten. I can remember when I was younger and first started to develop and my mom started to make me wear sports bras. Like all girls, my tata’s started off super small to the point where they were almost non-existent. Then they grew. Then grew again. Over and over my chesticles burst their way out of several sizes of sports bras which is how I wound up in Wal-Mart with my dad picking out my lucky sports bra. For whatever reason, I hated bra shopping with my mom so dad always had to take me.
I loved this bra. It provided the comfort I needed and kept my then B-36 cup boobs from looking like a pair of wild ferrets had been let loose in my jersey. Not only was it my lucky bra, but it was also my favourite bra. No other bra fit me as wonderfully and no bra was as lucky as this one. I actually shudder now thinking how many times I wore this bra and there was no time to wash it. Tournament weekends, I’d wear it all day long, take it off at the end of the day, toss it into my sports bag and then put it back on and wear it all day the next day. Then there were all the times I forgot to wash it between games and pulled that thing on while it was crusty with dried sweat simply because I refused to wear another bra. Yeah, I was that gross girl no one wants to ever admit to being and I’m amazed my tits never grew their version of athletes foot.
Beyond the physical comfort of that bra (it seemed to be magic and grow and change with me through 3 years of high school), there was an emotional comfort to it as well. This bra was simply there for me like a childhood blankie. I can remember in my senior years of high school pulling this sports bra on and it was so worn out that I had to pull on a second bra to keep my boobs from jumping up and knocking me out as I ran around.
I was a superstitious athlete, and still am to an extent, and part of my old routine was this bra. I may not be able to wear it, but I’m keeping it…just as a reminder to go out play hard and be the best that I can be. I’m also keeping it as a reminder of how small my boobs used to be and how I would wish they would grow just a little bit more. I need to be reminded that sometimes you get what you wish for. I also need to be reminded that luck is what you make it. It might not be a rabbits foot. It could be a gross old bra that reminds you of what a disgusting teenager you were, but also reminds you to play hard and helps you find that space in your head where you just know what when you step out onto the court, you can’t be beat. Mostly though, I’m keeping that sports bra to remind me that I’m damn lucky to not have grown a fungus and that I need to do my laundry more often.