Sweat bras and tears

Since I am being so super keeny in the keep fit department, I thought I should kit myself out with some proper togs. I went to Sweaty Betty's in Kingston. Actually I was a bit sweaty as I walked all the way there - no mean feat, let me tell you.

The nice assistant told me the first thing I needed was a sports bra. I don't know if she gave me one three sizes too small on purpose or maybe she misheard or misjudged my size. I got stuck in it. A sports bra for those of you who have never met one isn't just like a bra, oh no sir. It's bra-ish but more like a vest married to a bra. It has all sorts of extra straps and bits at the back that don't actually undo. You slip it over your head then struggle a bit, then roll it down then do it up at the back then realise you can't breath and call out from behind the curtain in a rather constricted small voice "Do you have a slightly bigger size?" I then got it stuck over my tits below my neck but round my arms and I couldn't move. I thought I would have to be cut out of it. I wriggled and squidged and turned upside down until eventually I wrenched the damned thing off. No, it's OK I don't want a sports bra any more.

Next it was sweat pants. Not much improvement as the assistant kept giving me stupidly small sizes. Do I look like a size 12 to you? I am a bloody 16 who dreams of being a 12 all day long non-stop - hence the new fitness regime. I nearly hit the girl though I did have to admire her optimism. "Why can't I just have the L then, if by some miracle it's too big, I'll opt for the M?" She came round to my way of thinking in the end and £250 later I feel ready to take on the most strenuous physical jerks in a desperate bid to fit into my new clothes (over my normal bra).