Unassigned
To everyone’s shock and amazement, the sun came out this week. In response, Chicago women everywhere experienced the following sequence of emotions.
1. Disbelief
2. Elation
3. Panic
Yes, panic. Perhaps it’s just me, but the sun’s exposure served as an immediate reminder of the impending exposure I soon face at North Avenue Beach.
Being the last-minute maiden that I am, my first response was to get back into the gym to make the most of the time I have left before I bare my beach bod. All was well as I managed to break my 2009 record and make it to the gym three times that week (pathetic, I know). It felt good to get back on the treadmill, burn some calories and say hello to long lost endorphins.
The problem came at the end of the week as I stood in front of the mirror and envisioned myself in my new red bikini. Maybe it was the mirror, or the lighting, or the fact that my winter skin channeled Edward Cullen, but I was not happy with what I saw. I tried to console myself with thoughts of diets and spray tans and upcoming spin classes, but I wasn’t buyin’ it.
Then, suddenly, thankfully, a story by one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, came to mind. In it she tells of her vacation to Mexico where she finally comes to terms with her body. Her self-image revelation is delightfully captured in this narrative of her first day at the beach:
“I was not wearing a cover-up, not even a T-shirt, I had decided I was going to take my thighs and butt with me proudly wherever I went. I decided, in fact, on the way to the beach that I would treat them as if they were beloved elderly aunties, the kind who did embarrassing things at the beach, like roll their stockings into tubes around their ankles, but whom I was proud of because they were so great in every real and important way. So we walked along, the three of us, the aunties and I, to meet Sam and our friends in the sand. I imagined that I could feel the aunties beaming, as if they had been held captive in the dark closet too long, like Patty Hearst. Freed finally to stroll on a sandy Mexican beach: what a beautiful story.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. Really, I couldn’t. I’ve tried.
But I will say this. Acceptance is inspirational. And embracing who you are, imperfections and all, is priceless. I encourage all of us here at Cheeky to take a lesson from Anne Lamott and view our bodies with affection and spend this summer playing confidently in the sand, regardless of what society, or the scale tells us. After all, the old adage, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts” still holds true. Just ask your mom.
