Oh, how I do love San Francisco. The weather these last few days was unseasonably gorgeous and it spontaneously inspired me to run to the Bay Bridge to the Presidio and back. It was a good choice- I felt awesome and alive, filled with endorphins and happiness (perhaps all this exercise was the reason this was one of the best weeks I’ve had in a long time). Despite being sore and incredibly tired, I’m excited to be starting something fresh. Running is this new idea a friend suggested in order to (literally) put some pep in my step and get out of my current huff.
After I journeyed home, I nursed my aching limbs and thought about how incredible bodies are. As I ran, I noticed different people racing by me. I was impressed with what seemed like a new mother- jogging with her infant in a fancy stroller. I almost was mauled down by the group of elderly gentlemen, sprinting by with their salt-and-pepper hair, enjoying the sunshine. I was equally impressed with my own frame, scuttling along the pavement, giving it its all even though I rarely exercise.
Like a lot of women (and men, for that matter), I have had a constant war with my body. I never thought I was skinny enough, tall enough, pretty enough, etc. Boy, was I ever wrong. It’s time to think differently and I finally want to apologize to my body for hating it after all these years…
I’m sorry, eyes, for always wishing that you were green. Rimmed with liner or not, you are incredibly stunning. A beautiful shade of honey-brown.
I’m sorry, teeth, for always hating you guys since day one. I always tell myself that I’d take better care, brushing and flossing every day and I severely apologize that I don’t. You don’t need to be whiter or straighter- you little ones are perfect the way you are.
I’m sorry, voice, for hating your tone and despising your throaty laugh. You really don’t make me sound like a man.
I’m sorry, hair, for all the torture I put you through. For never thinking you’re long or smooth enough. The damaging dyeing and straightening. The chemical processes and the trichotillomania pulling. I’m trying really hard to love you curly as much as I love you straight. I know that one day, you will win this battle and I will finally accept your beauty and greatness.
I’m sorry, breasts, for always hating you two. For always thinking that you were too big and burdensome. For even thinking about somehow reducing you with tape binding and tight sport bras. Now I realize that you are one of the greatest things- you make me happy to be a woman- and you really do look good in tops.
I’m sorry, hips. Now I know why I have you- you look awesome swaying to music.
I’m sorry, legs. You’re not fat. You’re strong and athletic. Thanks for carrying me everywhere I go.
I’m sorry, body, for everything I put you through. You are just fine the way you are. You are a great height, the ideal weight and the perfect color (tanned with sun lines or not). I’m sorry that I feed you junk food and cringe when I find a new stretch mark. I’m sorry for my past mistakes and not blessing you with more pretty tattoos and 30 minutes on the treadmill every other day. I’m sorry for comparing you to everyone else’s body- no one is 100% picture perfect- I get that now. I finally see your purpose and I’m incredibly grateful to have such a strong, supportive and striking form.
I promise that I start loving you, from this moment on.