A year ago I wrote a piece called “A Word About Summer Arms,” in which I:
A) admitted my disdain for my mildly ‘corn dog’ arms, and
B) decided to accept them.
And I did: I accepted that my body is strong and my beauty is true, at any size. Yet two months ago, I had this epiphany…
We were at a hotel pool. I was sitting beneath my sun hat on a chaise lounge, writing, and asked my daughter to take a picture of me; I wanted to pin that moment of perfection to my bulletin board. But then I saw my arms. And they didn't feel right.
“Take it again,” I asked her, three times. (I would’ve asked more but didn’t want my insecurity to catch.) Finally, I succumbed to reality: The look of my arms was not going to change.
And then it occurred to me -- It was time to shit or get off the pot! For years, I’d done nothing to work out my arms: My exercise routine consisted of 30 minute walks, (runs, when stressed) and squatting while I peed.
So why was I acting like a helpless victim? I'd had endless opportunities to change what I didn't like -- so why was I not taking them? Why was I just loafing around in discomfort, all out of my bodily integrity, as though there were nothing I could do to change that?
I'm not powerless, and neither are you! The things we don’t like can [oftentimes] change!! If we move to change them!
And I did. So now… for the past six weeks, my exercise routine has consisted of 30 minute walks/runs; squatting while I pee; and doing seven minutes of Tracy Anderson Arms while sitting on my ass watching Bridgerton.
My arms are taking well to this routine -- they’re feeling sculpted and lean. And, my integrity is intact: I am being the person I want to be.
I can accept myself and yet better the things about myself that I don't like and want to change.
And badass arms,