It’s hotter than I had anticipated. I’m wearing some shorts and a raspberry long sleeve tech tee from this year’s Tinker Bell Half Marathon. I’m five miles into a 12-mile solo run and I’m sweltering in the 70-degree almost-7 a.m. sunshine. What happened to spring? Oh right, it’s Fresno.
I’m on a lonely stretch of Old Friant Road and there’s no one in sight, but I know when I meet up again with the Eaton Trail and head back into Woodward Park, there’s bound to be scores of runners and cyclists sharing the trail. I can’t let them see the one thing I’m still hung up about — the body flaw that only my husband and my kids ever see.
Or can I? A sudden wave of empowerment comes over me and I snatch off my shirt before I lose my nerve.
I have two beautiful children that I show off to everyone through Instagram and Facebook photos. So why do I hide the stretch marks that prove that those beautiful children grew and developed inside my tummy? They’re just scars, a result of my small frame and hereditarily inelastic skin stretching to carry a 7-pound-7-ounce baby girl and two years later a whopping 9-pound-4-ounce boy...