I think it might be time to splash out on some new sports bras.
Taking my usual wobbly place on the treadmill this morning, with the mini iPod blaring and drops of sweat spattering the black rubber floor I was in The Zone baby and unaware of anything other than a bit of minor chafing.
That is, until I finished the 8 kms, swept the leaves out of the shed (damn that whirly birdy thingy in the roof), locked up, cooled down, collected Milly's dog nuggets off the lawn (being a bit anal due to keeping the house all nice and attractive), stripped off and saw that this bloody Berlei had carved me a new rib cage.
I'm told from Jack next door that at the time when the shower water splashed on my injury for the first few seconds my screams of agony were both audible and eerie. Possibly not the most inviting aura to send out to any potential house buyers walking past.