Posted on: Tuesday, June 14, 2005
ABOUT WOMEN
They want me to hate my body
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By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer
Summer could easily be my most favorite time of the year.
South swells, blockbuster movies, sales at Macy's.
What could be better?
Except summer does bring a certain unavoidable dread.
The bikini.
This is the time of the year when self-conscious women everywhere cringe at the mere thought of squeezing a winter body into a summer swimsuit.
It can be one of the worst, most truly painful experiences in a woman's life.
Every January, I make that annual promise: This year is going to be The Year, I declare. I will strut confidently along the beach in something I could easily mistake for underwear. And be proud.
That was six months ago. A lot has happened since then.
A flurry of birthday dinners — and cake, naturally. A ladies-only trip to Vegas. And late nights at the office that forced me — twisted my arm, in fact — to take a detour to Zippy's for chili-cheese fries.
I took that fitness-magazine oath to lose those pesky five pounds and transform my body into Victoria's Secret shape by that amorphous deadline of June 1.
Which has stealthily passed.
I tried the Four Exercises to Sexy Summer Abs, took the SELF Challenge, even attempted to finish the Bikini Body Boot Camp Workout. Nothing. I still have curves in all the wrong places.
I really shouldn't feel bad about it — I'm healthy, I'm happy, I'm loved.
But I do.
Women are bombarded with messages that make us hate, hate, hate our bodies. And the arrival of summer, with its primal call for maximum exposure, doesn't help.
I realize it's not just me. There are thousands, maybe millions, of women who feel just as badly about their bodies. But knowing that isn't comforting, either.
We shouldn't be so concerned about our jeans size. We shouldn't be so embarrassed of our bodies that we hide beneath oversize sarongs or — heaven forbid — swear off the beach altogether.
I'm not perfect, I realize that. But I refuse to let my imperfections — especially around the hips — stop me from having fun. I can, at least, ignore my thighs enough to paddle out in a bikini and not care what anyone thinks.
But the fact remains: thanks to a slowing metabolism and out-of-whack hormones, summer just isn't the same anymore.
It's not that it reminds me of all the places on my body I want to hide.
It's actually worse.
Summer is that reality check, the kick in my lazy backside to get me moving again. And that's a whole different kind of pain.
I still look forward to summer, but not because I'm a masochist.
Consider it optimism that keeps me smiling.
Because there's always next year.
Reach Catherine E. Toth at 535-8103 or ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com.
