When I got the email that Target was looking for bloggers to pose in their swimsuits on Instagram and Facebook, the only reason I didn’t immediately delete is because of a moment in Florida a few months previous.
We had traveled to the beach in Florida for a friend’s wedding. The lineage of our ties to the bride and groom to be derive from my husband’s side, and the group is a tall, burly bunch of guys, all very successful and when I first met them, very intimidating. Now, they’re buddies and like family with their own kids, wives, ex-wives and girlfriends.
On this particular vacation I’d be donning a bathing suit in front of them. As a 40-something adult who has better things to worry about, this should have been inconsequential, but somehow wearing a swimsuit never is. I kind of dreaded it, in no small part because I weighed more than I ever had before in my life. The scale had tipped 140 pounds and I still couldn’t believe it every time the numbers showed up. I had maxed out at 136 in college as part of the freshman 15 ritual.
But I persevered even though the cellulite on my thighs was hyper-reflective like mini beacons. It was hot and we were at the beach and I wore the damn bikini. Frida was blissful, running around in the sand and waves that were much warmer and gentler than in our Northern California beach. I envied and loved with a vengeance her lack of self-consciousness. [Read more…]