Leggy and lithe
Saturday, March 31st, 2007Who wears short shorts? Apparently, I do.
I have walked 10 miles today. It was supposed to be 14, but Megan wasn’t feeling up to the additional 4. :) When my heart feels down, or when I have lots of thoughts to spin around in my brain, I go all Forrest Gump and just keep moving. Despite it being March in Seattle, complete with heavy clouds and a low-40’s temperature, I decided that I should wear shorts for this urban excursion. I can handle the cold – that’s not the issue.
The issue is the legs.
The issue has always been the legs. When I was 13 years old, I stopped wearing shorts for complete insecurity over the shape of my limbs. I wadded up my short overalls and shoved them in a drawer, which, let’s be honest, was a good decision. Since I definitely wore a belt through the belt loops.
I muddled my way through junior high, high school, and college without ever donning anything less than long pants. Hot Colorado summers? Pants. Hiking in Utah? Pants. The beach in Mexico? Pants. Always pants. Pants were my camouflage – the thing that would prevent attention from being drawn toward my ultraviolet shanks.
I don’t know what I expected. Throughout this time, I didn’t really exercise – why would I assume that my legs should be svelte and toned? But half-way through college, I really got my act together, educated myself on nutrition, started working out, and as a result, lost 45 pounds. I felt great – so proud. But the insecurity over my legs hung on for dear life – try as I might, I could not shake it.
I bought some shorts for hiking and backpacking last summer out of sheer laziness, because really? I didn’t want to carry the extra weight of long pants on 24-mile trails. Even in the wilderness, even 100 miles from civilization, even with just two of my best girlfriends, even when I had much bigger worries (like the fact that we were teetering on foot-wide ledges and we had to carry BEAR SPRAY), internally, I was obsessing over my legs.
I am embarrassed by my self-centered, petty frame of mind.
Last night, I went to a Women & Wine night at a friend’s house. I knew no one except the host, and she had invited women from all different areas of her life: college friends, church friends, work friends, wives of her husband’s friends, all for the purpose of drinking wine and eating treats and connecting with each other. I went alone – sometimes it’s better that way, no one cramping my style – and found myself to be the youngest person there.
And my conclusion: I cannot wait to turn 30.
These women were absolutely delightful – intelligent, curious, real, funny, successful, deep. And here’s the thing: they were comfortable. They accepted and embraced their physical imperfections, and were glowing with undeniable beauty as a result. I was inspired, and their comfort with themselves allowed me to be comfortable with myself.
So today I put on shorts. I walked my 10-miles with my white legs, and I thought my thoughts that needed thinking – and not one of them involved how mortifying my legs are. It gave me such hope that as I grow in age it is truly possible that I might grow in grace.
But I will never, never wear a belt through my overall shorts again.
