It was difficult to don a feathery costume for dance performance, but I could hide within the role of a dancer. The audience would be focusing on the dance, the music and the costume and not on me in particular.

A swimsuit may seem to be a difficult challenge for some large women, but fortunately, I was swimming with a group of mature ladies, and let's face it girls - none of us had much to write home about in the body department. Besides, most of the department was nicely distorted by the moving waves of water.

For a big girl, I think I do quite well with my body image most of the time, that is...until I joined an aerobics class.

We women often express our sense of color and design using style, flair and fashion. We are like butterflies, bringing brilliance and color to an otherwise dreary world. Why is it then, that every woman larger than a size ten immediately upon joining an exercise class, will hang her butterfly wings on the locker hook and return to the cocoon? Invariably, they emerge from the locker room swathed from earlobe to ankle in heavy cotton jersey. And the range of colors is astounding in its deficiency. They line up diligently in the back row (without fail) wearing subtle shades of black, off black, dark black and gray. I've seen more color in a nunnery.

Workouts are hard, and if you mention air conditioning to the YMCA staff where I exercise, they look at one another with this "you-fat-ladies-wear-eight-pounds-of-clothes-on-your-already-over-insulated-bodies-and-now-you-want-air-conditioning?" look. 

So we don't ask. 

Instead, we work out for a week and quietly expire of heat exhaustion. (the big grease stain under the window? - that was Emily).

What broke me from wearing baggy black sweats was that eight-day heat wave we had in August. I found myself sprinkling deodorant on my forehead and was on my second sweat towel and I hadn't even left the locker room! I needed to shed some clothes! You know, it's not as if no one can tell that I'm fat just because I've covered it all in a jersey blanket. I have discovered most folks still know what's under those sweats (because it's black, of course, they also think I'm a depressed, gothic practitioner of some strange religion).

So there I was, dressed in 47 layers of black cotton, dying of heat exhaustion. However, as daring as I might be, even I won't exercise naked (think support, think YMCA family values, think again if you think I'm going let anyone see my belly button!). But I was determined to find something different to wear. It wasn't as if I didn't have any other clothes. Indeed, I had purchased an exquisite purple and lavender exercise suit just weeks before. It was home decorating the same dresser draw that held my see through, red lace nighty - and for much the same reason - "fat girls don't...". The heat, however, drove away my embarrassment - self-consciousness took a back seat to self-preservation. I was uncomfortable and seriously considering quitting aerobics, and all because I was too ashamed of my body to dress appropriately. Maybe "fat girls don't...", but this fat girl was about to!

That evening, I forced myself to try on the outfit and stand for several minutes before a full-length mirror. It was nearly as bad as I expected, but there were a few pleasant surprises. Due to the fact I had seen myself in black sweats for several weeks at the gym, it wasn't a total shock to view my almost-but-not-quite naked body. My purple exercise outfit was a two-piece leotard and tank that made me look a bit like a Russian weight lifter. But the purple color was a pleasant change from all the black, and six weeks of exercise had tightened my thighs quite nicely, thank you - an improvement hidden under those baggy black sweats.

With trepidation, I pulled the shimmering purple cloth out of my gym bag the next day. I chose this Tuesday class for my "debut", primarily because it was a small strengthening class of only a handful of women. Imagine my chagrin as when I discovered our instructor was out sick and our class was to be combined with the larger coed aerobics class in the gym. I would be jumping around with a group of strangers in what amounted to purple underwear!

I started sweating immediately. There was no turning back. My black sweats were home and I was here, being merrily herded by the ever-efficient YMCA staff down the stairs into the gym with my six other classmates. What could I do? Claim morbid embarrassment? As I we formed into lines, I prayed that perhaps folks would be so distracted by the purple spandex, they wouldn't even notice my crimson cheeks. Thirty strangers and I began a grapevine-left to the Best of the 50's and "The Wanderer".

I began to concentrate on the workout - it seemed a bit easier now that I was not tripping over the hem of my sagging sweats. I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered the hidden support spandex provides. Suddenly, I could jump and slide and move and it would hold me "still" in places that I really don't need to be moving, it held me in here, lifted me up there...and the best part? I adored what it did for my self-confidence!

Women were handing out compliments like candy at a parade, but I took it with a grain of salt - I know women lie like cheap rugs when it comes to flattery. But I was flat out astonished by the difference in the way the men treated me. On the cool-down track, fellows who had never smiled at me before were waving and making comments like - "looking good!" "Hey, good to see ya!", or giving me that little "runner's nod" - no one had ever given me the runner's nod before! Perhaps I was smiling more, maybe I was making more eye contact. Whatever it was, it was as if I had suddenly appeared out of thin air after weeks of invisibility.

I still don't know if people were treating me differently because of how much more confidence I displayed, or whether I was displaying more confidence because of the positive attention I received. What I do remember is that the workout was over before I knew it and the self-confidence? Oh it continues to this day and flowed over into my abilities to teach, to conduct public presentations. Indeed, I even bought a thong....