Last week, I had a hot date with my DVR and watched an episode of Scrubs, which has to be one of my favorite comedies ever--probably because it features one of my favorite characters ever--Dr. Elliot Reid.
While I may bear a striking resemblance to Sarah Jessica Parker, Elliot Reid is my real doppelganger: attractive and intelligent, yet slightly spoiled, classically neurotic and incessantly klutzy.
But in this particular episode, her character didn't resonate with me--at least not 33 year-old me. The joke was that Elliot fasted for a few days to get into this hot bikini, made her grand beach entrance and then gorged on food for the rest of the vacation.
Yes, the suit is super sassy (AND in my signature color!), but why can't Elliot have her cake and eat it, too--all while looking super sexy in an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini?
Ironically enough, this very topic found me on the other side of PRville this week, as I was interviewed for this article about women and their love-hate relationship with bathing suits, along with one of my favorite people in the world, Miss Curvy Life herself, who posted her bikini musings here. While I'm usually camera (and radio and photo and interview...) shy, when I read this HARO query about women and bathing suits, I had to respond.
I used t0 hate bathing suits as much as the next girl. From growing up pale in the tan-crazy 80s to the general stretch marks and cellulite that come with being female, I had nothing but fear and loathing for the bathing suit. I'd mastered all sorts of tactics--from the magazine on the tummy to the strategic towel angle to a variety of cover-ups--to avoid showing body parts I disliked. And you could forget about eating or actually swimming in said bathing suit.
All of that changed when I started running marathons with Team in Training. I began running for a close friend who was diagnosed with lymphoma, and while she has been cancer free for almost 18 months, I know others whose battles are just beginning, are still in progress or, tragically, have been lost. And well, when you meet people like that, and your body is learning to do something only one percent of the population dares to try--you have a newfound respect for what it can accomplish. Who cares if your feet are blistered, your toenails are black, your thighs are a little meatier or your butt is a little fuller? Nothing compares to the struggles that cancer patients and their families face every single day.
And so while I may occasionally grumble about my bunions or my stretch marks or my bloated tummy, I think of them not only as signs of a life well lived, but of a life that CAN be lived--and a life that is entirely too short, too precious and too joyous to worry about superficial imperfections.
Ironically enough, this very topic found me on the other side of PRville this week, as I was interviewed for this article about women and their love-hate relationship with bathing suits, along with one of my favorite people in the world, Miss Curvy Life herself, who posted her bikini musings here. While I'm usually camera (and radio and photo and interview...) shy, when I read this HARO query about women and bathing suits, I had to respond.
I used t0 hate bathing suits as much as the next girl. From growing up pale in the tan-crazy 80s to the general stretch marks and cellulite that come with being female, I had nothing but fear and loathing for the bathing suit. I'd mastered all sorts of tactics--from the magazine on the tummy to the strategic towel angle to a variety of cover-ups--to avoid showing body parts I disliked. And you could forget about eating or actually swimming in said bathing suit.
All of that changed when I started running marathons with Team in Training. I began running for a close friend who was diagnosed with lymphoma, and while she has been cancer free for almost 18 months, I know others whose battles are just beginning, are still in progress or, tragically, have been lost. And well, when you meet people like that, and your body is learning to do something only one percent of the population dares to try--you have a newfound respect for what it can accomplish. Who cares if your feet are blistered, your toenails are black, your thighs are a little meatier or your butt is a little fuller? Nothing compares to the struggles that cancer patients and their families face every single day.
And so while I may occasionally grumble about my bunions or my stretch marks or my bloated tummy, I think of them not only as signs of a life well lived, but of a life that CAN be lived--and a life that is entirely too short, too precious and too joyous to worry about superficial imperfections.
BRAVO!! I wish I knew the person who threw the switch on reality. Do people remember Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren...the hotties of their day? Yeah...these were real women with real bodies and were proud of them! Now excuse me while I go find my hoodie and sweat pants. :-)
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