If Legs Could Talk
For a huge chunk of my life, people used to look at my legs and say "you must be an athlete." If you were to find a photo of me at age five you would see there is a hint of she-hulk in my blood. I was strong from the start with a six pack rippling through my pink leotard and biceps completely ruining my chances with that third grade crush. Even from a young age I wanted to hide certain body parts, very aware that I didn't look like the girls in the Limited Too catalog. These legs, however, always gave me away. I never got used to them-all sharp angles and bulky muscles and a calf muscle that was one part genetics and two parts hard work. They were the product of years upon years of go. Sprinting and dead lifting and squatting and ladder jumping and bleacher running and blocking and on your mark, get set, go. They stood strong and powerful-yet never quite graceful-through dance and cheerleading. These legs happily put muscle to use in soccer, lacrosse and basketball.