how my underwear almost caught fire
My thighs have always been on the juicier side.
I’ve had my closest posse weigh in on my situation to give me feedback. None of it was mean, mind you – but it didn’t helped me come to terms with it, either.
“You have Jewish thighs” my Mom once remarked. She had the most gorgeous gams and at age 76, still does.
Giving me the once over in the dorms, my college bestie assessed, “You will never have thin thighs.” #truth Another college girlfriend and I laughingly called our lack of thigh gap “chub rub”.
But my favorite was a greeting card I found that summed up my situation perfectly: “I had to quit running it was bad for my health; my thighs rubbed together so much my underwear caught fire.” 😂
What turned things around was taking my juicy thighs and appreciating their strength. After following diets, running 3 miles per day in high school, and seeing zero changes in their mass, I knew there was no escape from life as a quadzilla. Which is good, because those quads have been total badasses to me over the years.
I can leg press like a man, have run a marathon, walk around 10k steps per day, and have some muscle there. No amount of lifting weight has ever given me a thigh gap and probably never will. I fill out the curves of my skinny jeans and have to wear pants with a lot of stretch. But so what? I got 99 problems, but thighs ain’t one of ’em.
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