Full-Length

On Wednesday, I set a new PR for my dead lift. As detailed in the linked post, I excitedly grabbed my phone to take a picture of the weight so I could brag all over social media.

A few minutes later, Matt asked if I wanted a picture of me actually doing the dead lift.

"Oh, no," I responded, without hesitation. "I don't like full-length pictures of myself." He didn't say anything, so I went on. "Oh, I know, it's silly, I've come so far and yet I still don't like pictures of my body."

Ridiculous, don't you agree?

My body is certainly not perfect, if you're judging it based on Vogue or Cosmopolitan magazines. Hell, even if you're judging based on any running or fitness magazine. I have all kinds of fun quirks--stretch marks on my hips, extra skin and a bit of flab on my belly, a bit of jiggle to my thighs.

But you know what else my body is? It's bloody strong. It is five-feet, two inches of half-marathon-finishing awesome. It occurred to me, yesterday, that I dead lifted one hundred pounds on Wednesday, and then I was too ashamed to let Matt take a picture of me doing it. That doesn't make any sense.

We'll likely dead lift again this coming week--I hope we do. Because I'm going to hand my phone to Matt and tell him, "Take the picture. I want everyone to see the awesome things I can do."

Haters can step to the right. I've got some Badass to maintain.