I am not a runner. The thought of all that bone-rattling effort makes my joints ache. Which is why, when I signed up for a 10km run in Quebec city last summer, friends and family were somewhat perplexed: was I sure I would put in the required training? Enthusiastically, I assured them I would: I was committed.
Yeah, no, turns out I wasn’t. I went running a total of 4 times prior to that race: the highlight of my training happened the day I decided I needed to recover from the exertion of getting dressed in my running gear – I took a book and sat at a terrasse at the nearby coffee shop, and read outside in the toasty sun. Unfortunately, the book was engrossing, and I wasn’t wearing a hat, so all that exposure to the sun really tired me out. It was unsafe to go running after that much sun: wouldn’t want to risk a heat-stroke, after-all!
Two weeks ago, I impulsively booked 4-day getaway to Vegas with DD: we’ll be flying towards trouble next week. I was pretty stoked until my bestie advised me (right as I was taking my first bite of deep-fried chocolate ice-cream!) that pool parties are the thing to do in Vegas.
I figured 2.5 weeks would be enough time to starve myself into sexy style but I underestimated the power of two Easters (Catholic Easter last week – celebrated with my godmama’s Italian family, and Orthodox Easter this week celebrated with my old man). Starvation didn’t happen, and I’m leaving in 5 days. Only one option remained:
BATHING SUIT SHOPPING.
I don’t consider myself a very big coward. But some things are really unpleasant. I find the idea of stripping down in front of a guy for the first time to be much less intimidating than going to a pool full of people and flaunting my jiggly bits, especially if that pool is in Vegas, chock-full of beautiful plastic people. Only marginally less traumatic is the activity of bathing suit shopping: once I am at the pool party, it’s too late to worry anyhow, especially after 1-2 drinks to dull the nerves. I think bathing suit stores should start serving hard alcohol: guaranteed increased sales, and terrible lapses in judgment.
The shopping saga
DD suggested that I get a one-piece, as the option of not attending a pool party due to bathing suit insecurities was clearly ineligible. This morning, therefore, I did some research and found several one-piece models that seemed affordable and sexy, and set off on my quest in an almost cheerful frame of mind, confident that it would only take me 2-3 tries before finding the perfect suit.
After 10 bathing suits, my confidence was wavering and I was late for boxing. Putting aside the unpleasant task, I went to get punched in the face for an hour – much less upsetting than bathing suit shopping.
After boxing, I felt strong and powerful, able to take on anything. I sallied forth to the first store on my list; moved briskly onto the second; grumpily onto the third; despairingly onto the forth. After trying on 50 bathing suits, I was ready to cancel the entire Vegas trip, and was convinced my body shape was horribly unique: all one pieces made me look frumpy, and most of them were too long for my torso while being simultaneously too tight around my average-sized bust.
I sought refuge in Indigo book store. 45 minutes later, I finally had my first purchase of the day: a book.
I considered abandoning my bathing suit quest, but didn’t want to repeat the same fail as I had last summer, when faced with a similar unpleasant obligation. Girding my loins, I decided to give it one last try. 30 bathing suits later, I purchased a bikini!
CONCLUSION: Vegas had better be amazing, to compensate for the mental trauma I went through today. Also? I’m really excited to read my new book.