This I believe in my big thighs. You think what a statement, how horrific. My thighs belong to me and somehow say it all. They don’t fit my petite body but they tell the zeros to look else where. They are my tree trunks that hold me up right, and fill a good pair of jeans. My mother at the mall one day a while back, remarked,” You have big thighs from all that biking.” I just smiled and agreed. I use to be ashamed, and longed for smaller thighs. Now I realize they carried me on all my late night rides, to school each day with ease in high gear, and started my powerful, graceful, cross country strides.
I believe my thighs are wings. I run in the afternoons, mornings, and nights for a better time at the next race. On those runs I’m carried by my tan, thick, tree trunks manicured by God to carry me on. Twig girls look on with envy as stride after stride my thighs carry me across the finish line. Sweat in my face, gallons of water, entry fees, and spandex later, I stand solid as I feel my heart beat slow down. One minute time decrease, my thighs would smile if they knew what efficient engines they were.
I believe in the power my thighs have to carry me through less important tasks too. I went to a boot camp over the summer, and ran more than I ran at weeks of cross country practice. I loved how the miles toned, and firmed my thighs. The rest of me could be blah, but my thighs were master pieces, my personal pieces of glory and pride. I believe in the power they have to carry me, where ever I wish to go. I believe in the power they have to keep me from obesity, and grant me endless independence.
Here’s to the other girls with big thighs, believe in their power and know you are fine. Those girls with the chicken legs, are the ones that need to be embarrassed. This I believe is the relationship between the girls who move and the girls that don’t.
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