Courage

It takes courage to be overweight.  You wouldn't think so, but it does.  It takes courage to put on your size XL yoga pants and go to the gym.  It takes courage to get dolled up and go barhopping downtown.  And it certainly takes courage to wear a bathing suit.  And that's the kind of courage I had to muster up today.

My 6-year-old daughter had a birthday party to attend tonight for one of her kindergarten classmates.  She was so looking forward to it because it was a swim party - in the middle of January.  Neat idea, huh?  It didn't hit me until about an hour before the party:

Am I supposed to bring a swimsuit for myself?  Are the parents going to be swimming?  Oh God, what do I do?  It's the middle of winter.  My toes are unpolished, my legs untanned, and my bikini area - well, let's just say it certainly isn't ready for a bikini!  

During my state of panic, I thought of all the possible ways I could get out of this; the best being to send my husband instead.  Guys don't care about their ghost-white legs or untrimmed, ahem, cuticles.  But then I took a breath.  And I thought of you, dear reader, and what a great post this would make - having the courage to brave a bathing suit in spite of my imperfections.

So I packed my Lands End SwimMini and towel in my bag and told myself to suck it up.  I told myself that I could do this.  I would hold my head high as I marched from the locker room to the safety of the deep end.

Then, the heavens opened and angelic music played.  It turns out none of the other moms were planning on swimming.  So we all just sat there by the edge of the pool dressed in our jeans and fleece vests while we watched our little swimmers having the time of their lives.

Want to know the kicker?

I wanted to be in that pool having fun with my little girl.  I really did.  We looked ridiculous sitting there on the sidelines.  It was 85 degrees and 185% humidity inside that indoor pool area.  My jeans were sticking to my legs.  But we all felt the same - no way am I getting in that pool in front of all these people.  Thin or heavy, tall or short, outgoing or shy, we all felt the same.  And isn't that sad?

I wish I could tell you that I was different; that I eventually got in the pool.  I can't.  I went with the flow, not wanting to stand out.  But I am proud of myself just for packing my swimsuit nevertheless.  Baby steps.

And maybe, just maybe, someday in the near future, I can be the mom who has the courage to be the only mom in the pool.   The mom who can focus on all that's wonderful about her.  The mom that all those other moms probably wished they could be too.