I heard stitching tear as the super cute RB High Impact stretched over my shoulders. And the expensive white Stella McCartney bra that looked so good on the rack was so tight that I couldn't avoid smearing N70 foundation on the collar as I fought my way out of it. Black girl problems.
There I was, chest high, shoulders back and quads on fire, during a charity cycling class. The sound of heavy electronic beats mixed with ‘eighties’ melodies permeated the air and drowned out my thoughts as I pressed my heels through the pedals, matching my cadence to the upbeat tempo. Then it happened. I glanced up mid-sprint and caught the reflection of my floppy girls tossing about just below the neckline of my low cut Lole top. Ugh, seriously?