My body used to think the only piece of clothing I owned was a swimsuit. I worked at the YMCA as a lifeguard and swimming instructor. My “uniform” was a red one-piece swimsuit covered by my red YMCA jacket. When I wasn’t wearing my work suit, I was wearing a bikini, or a two-piece suit and sailing or water skiing on Beaver Dam Lake. I always felt proud of the way I filled out my suit.As I’ve aged, I realize that this pride was short-lived. As I grew older, the suits grew larger and I felt I had more to hide.
Water sports are favorites, so I have always needed to find a suit that suited me and that I could wear with some semblance of confidence. I enjoyed being fashionable and I enjoyed maintaining my modesty more.
After our son was born, I realized that the body required a bit more “holding together” than in the past.
My legs and arms still looked OK in a suit. My stomach is my enemy. Currently, I sport a leopard and black number. It has a blousy top that covers my Meno pot. The black bottoms are sort of successful at covering the remainder of my multitude of sins.
Frankly, currently, I spend more time looking for the comfy coverups that I can use to keep me modest until I drop it on the beach and jump into the water. I don’t find myself being as anxious to don a swimsuit these days as when I was younger. I still love to swim and I seek out places that offer some privacy to practice my strokes and to get my exercise.
I often think about the best ways to improve my swimsuit bod’ but, I realize short of an obsession with yoga and exercise, this may be a lost cause.
These days, any suit I wear must pass the comfort test. If it doesn’t pass, I don’t buy it. The water is my friend. Swimsuits, not so much. That’s why currently, I often settle for comfy shorts and a complimentary t-shirt.
Love my seventy-three-old body in a swimsuit? Maybe, maybe not.