I’ve always hated my thighs.
In high school, jeans shopping was a complete nightmare. I know what you’re thinking, “Isn’t it always?” or “Wouldn’t we all rather stick our heads into the yawning mouths of lions or alligators or piranhas than shop for jeans?” To which the answer is a resounding YES. Yes, we certainly would. Hell, wouldn’t we all rather stick our heads into the ASSES of these animals, if it meant we’d get out of jeans shopping ever again? I’ll let you answer that last question on your own.
I cringe when I think about the multitude of shopping trips needed, hours long, to find a single pair of jeans that I thought I looked not-like-a-lumbering-mastodon in. My mom patiently (or fake patiently) sat there while the sales lady brought me pair after pair after pair. I didn’t want jeans that were too tight, because then people would see how big these thighs were, but jeans that were too baggy made them look even bigger. The Flabby Flank Conundrum.
It was also the mid 90’s and our entire generation was wearing everything ultra-baggy. When you only wear jeans and hoodies in a size XL, because, for some reason, THAT is what is cool, even though you really fit into a size S or M, you don’t really learn what kind of clothing is most flattering for your body. I was essentially plucking random jeans off the shelves and hoping they magically fit. It was like trying to find a tactful and well informed politically inspired status update on Facebook. Highly unlikely no matter how hard you search. My thighs are still hard to squeeze into many normal-person sized pants, but now I can usually spot jeans with a size 10 thigh hole and a size 6 waist without shedding too many tears. In high school I hyperfocused on the sheer bulk of my two trunks; I realize now that it doesn’t really matter how big my thighs are.
Except when it does.
Yesterday I went running, in shorts. Cute little blue and yellow running shorts with a white stripe down each side. And about 1/2 mile in, the ensuing chafing reminded me why I never run in these. You don’t have to deal with this crap when you’re primarily a winter runner, like I am. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Raw. Raw. Ouch. I have a good friend who would get embarrassed when her thighs would “clap” (and cheer her on!) really loudly while she was running. I was embarrassed that there was no way that would EVER happen to me – since that would require them to be separate entities. In the past I might have cursed the chafing and my thick thighs, but now I chalk it up to simply choosing the wrong garment. I should have worn the ridiculous looking spandex.
No matter how much you hate a body part, there becomes a point where you know it isn’t going to get that much better. No matter how toned I get or how much weight I lose, my thighs are always going to rub together. So, I have to let it go and honor my physical and mental health by remembering to stick to my Three Guiding Principles.
1. Work on Creating A Positive Self-Image
My thighness isn’t going away. It’s genetics. And, since I want to be happiest of happies, I’m going to work very hard on not caring about my damn thighs because I have approximately 93472 million more important things to care about. I will look like a complete buffoon in spandex in order to think less (thus care less) about what I look like. This is the runner’s paradox.
2. Work on Fitness
These thighs look better the more toned they are. The stronger they are the better I feel. These thighs have squatted me through stress-relieving yoga during my depressing battle with infertility, squatted me through prenatal yoga, even with the additional pounds from Baby Grouch, and accidentally trained me for a marathon. They’ve taken me from point A to point B my entire life and I need to appreciate them by taking care of them. So, I will continue to run and squat and thoroughly tire them out. This aging, post-baby body demands it.
3. Be Gluttonous
Just not every second of every day. I will eat leafy greens, and fruity fruits, organic grains and beany beans, but I am not willing to give up on what makes me happy and balanced and fun. I do not want to be the boob sipping soda water and munching on carrots at girls weekend. I do not want to be the one who can’t agree to go to a restaurant until I’ve ensured they offer grilled chicken and zucchini. Bor-ing. I will be as healthy and fit as I can be, whilst indulging, on a somewhat regular basis, in mounds of nachos. And pizza. And most definitely, wine.
How do you bow to your thighness?
A Morning Grouch 
I bow to my thighness by eating what I want when I want it but then making up for it other places. And realizing it’s all I’ve got and truly, it helps. clap clap clap!
clap clap for you! I shall never think of a clap in the same way again.
I bow to my thighness by keeping an ongoing, balanced, inner dialogue. “You are eating so well!” “You will pay for this later!” “Why did I eat/drink that?!” “Remember, you had a great time!” “But, how do you FEEL?” And on and on and on and on . . . The joys and trials of being human.
physical and emotional teeter-totters, we are.
I try to focus on what I can do, rather than on what size I am or what the number on the scale is. So if I can do the activities I like without being destroyed by them, I’m good.
The trick is finding the time to do more than a walk around the block before dinner. That’s good, but I need more–and I haven’t been able to figure out how to make that happen.
Time is always the nemesis. But, you’re so right, focusing on what you can DO instead of complaining or being unhappy with what you’ve got is super important.
Plus I try to remember that if I’m the worst thing someone’s ever seen, then someone needs some real issues in their life. Because I’m not a supermodel, but I’m not a horrible troll-beast, either.
Yea. Sometimes I think I’m a horrible troll-beast/worst think I’ve ever seen….I have issues lol. Working on it.
I am sure you are not.
My gut bothers me more than my thighs, but I did get that by mostly drinking beer and eating Junior Mints- that’s not going to change. It’s hard to see my body as a complete package and not pick out the worst parts. It’s hard to appreciate that my body birthed a human, ran several half marathons, and is not prone to injury that so many runners contend with. I’m constantly wondering why I can’t focus on those positives and ignore that my pants aren’t the size I wish they were. Ugh. Daily struggle. But worth the struggle to enjoy the booze and nachos with you, Grouch. 🙂
Daily struggle, indeed. Can wait to booze and chomp it up with you soon.
Complain all you want, but I know better. Those thunder thighs are miraculous and you should display them in all their glory every chance you get. They are your “badges” of courage, determination, success, inspiration and even love. You fought the infertility battle with them and won. You ran a marathon, for God’s sake! Pants size and thigh circumference are just trivial numbers…..the most important number is the size of your heart (and 26.2!)
This is my favorite comment of all time. Love you.
Love you back….don’t ever stop writing because you inspire couch potatoes like me to plug the treadmill back in and quit using the bicycle as a clothes rack. True story…..if my kids can do it, so can I…..so I signed up yesterday to do the MO Cowbell in October.
oh, hooray for you!!! that is awesome. keep me posted on how the training is going!
I’m not sure how I bow to my thighness because since birthing Ewing McTewing 2+ years ago, I can’t lose this last 10 pounds (which fluctuates between 10 and 20 depending on how hard I’ve been hitting the cookie dough that quarter). I’ve started running. Though I appear to be getting fatter, it feels better knowing I’m doing something healthy. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with stretch marks and excess skin. It ain’t going anywhere, so I guess I’d better name it and learn to love it. Is Aloysius the right name, or should I go with something feminine, like Gertie?
As the naming goes, you gotta go with your gut ( I couldn’t resist)
To this day, I still find myself plucking random jeans off the shelves and hoping they magically fit.
I’m 44.
I’m kinda the same way with a swim suit. Oh, God.
I have come to accept that I have earned every dimple and every stretch mark I have. I’m finally ok with me being me.
Great reading!
I hav
Oh, jeans and swimsuits. The two twin shopping evils! And yay for us being happy with being us.
“bow to your thighness…:” I haven’t. But, I should probably start. I have been so unhappy with my size for the last 3 or 4 years; I’ve just been sitting in it… not doing anything but complaining, until recently, I finally decided healtier living is something I’m willing to work towards, like you said, it doesn’t have to go from one extreme to the other. Balance. Balance. Balance.
I usually feel the worst when I”m just…stationary. But, it can be hard to figure out how to get moving.
I have not yet.. but I suppose now is a good time. Excellent post!
Now is always the time. Thanks for reading!
I LOVE this post! My thighs love to snuggle together while I run as well…or even when I just walk, or sit, or anything for that matter. They are besties and DO NOT want to separate which also makes them assholes.
Our thighs are just too friendly with each other. (I say this as I am eating a donut hole. Probably not helping)
I’m one of those bug-shaped people whose thighs are okay but have belly and backfat. There is no sucking in back fat. Sad. Love this post. Hilarious and thinkie. Thank you.
Ah, but your cute little legs can poke out of a loose top that flatters you! Always envious of you “bug people”. Also, I’m stealing the word thinkie.