The Bane of the Easter Dress

Easter dresses and archery? Some many question the connection between the two, but any former little girls out there blessed with ample upper body strength may remember the stinging pinch of elastic from the brand new, short-sleeved Easter dress.

Through the modern miracle of online shopping, the explosion of stores in my local area, and the act of supporting a friend on Weight Watchers, my upper arms and I held a sort of truce. They would let me fit into most things, barring the occasional punjabi dress with short, tight sleeves. But I even managed to get a few of those punjabi dresses in my collection after forays on Oak Tree Road in Edison.

But then came archery. My arms and I we still worked together, enjoying a new hobby. Then the hobby became serious, and the coach said push-ups. Yes, push-ups. I didn't balk--my coach seems to know everything, and I respect him for it. So I started the push-ups. Ten a day coupled with my regular hundred arrow practice rounds. Then I realized I could do sets of push-ups. Three sets of ten. My arm muscles formerly toned but not tough said hell yeah and decided to "get physical." Those punjabi dresses, tried on in November for our annual Diwali Party, were a no go. Cute sweaters bought last year--nope. Black wool, Calvin Klein dress coat--nope.

My first thought, as with most women, is ohmigod, you are fat. So I checked in the "skinny jeans." You know that pair--they make you look your best but only if you can get into them. Well, they still fit. Red, sexy dress with a tank top style--also fit. I officially wasn't fat. I was butch as an archery buddy called it. Admonishing me, he said, "just don't cut your hair."

The memory of those Easter dresses came flying back at me, but this time, instead of embracing the mythology of one size is all that pervades the American female mind, I decided to let it go and keep doing the damn push-ups. I can hold a shot longer and steadier. I feel stronger and love the feeling of tight muscles under skin. I look forward to doing my exercises, and if I don't complete as many sets, my first thought is that I owe myself one more. I owe myself. For the first time, being fit isn't about fitting in--fitting in to a beauty standard, fitting in a certain size blouse--it is about fitting into my goals for myself.