For a brief stint in my mid-twenties, I had abs. I had that nice, pronounced line down the center of my stomach and the little squares around it. I mean, it was my twenties, so we all know I didn’t have to work quite as hard for them then. My body would forgive me for a night of having a whole bottle of wine and a few items from my neighborhood taco truck. In fact, my body seemed to forget those incidents rather quickly. But still, I did put in some effort to have them. I was acutely aware of the fact that I had them. And I had a love/hate relationship with them. Oddly enough, I got them on accident. I was trying veganism for the first time and had gotten into running at the same time. One day, I woke up, and there were the abs. And while I hadn’t aimed to have them, once I had them, I felt like some precious jewel had fallen in my lap that I had to hold onto, whether I wanted to or not. Here is what it was like when I briefly had abs.
I felt pressure to show them off
Once I had them, I didn’t want them to go to waste. I felt pressure to buy crop tops and wear things that showed off my abs. If I didn’t show off my abs, I felt like I wanted to tell people, “Hey. I have abs under here!”