It all began when I became obsessed with a photo I saw on the Facebook page of a writer I knew. She was backstage at a bikini competition in heels and a sparkly bikini, and she held a trophy high overhead. Part of me thought she looked ridiculous with her silver eyeshadow and her deep spray tan, but her smile told a story of strength and accomplishment. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt strong or accomplished.
Bikini competitions do not fall within these parameters. Parading around on stage in a tiny swimsuit for a panel of judges went against my morals. So why was I so taken by the idea of possibly competing?
I told myself to get a grip and stop being ridiculous, and yet, as my 50th birthday crept closer, I couldn't let go of the idea. I reached out to the writer in the Facebook picture, who introduced me to the trainer who coached her for competition.
Dressed in my husband's shapeless SXSW T-shirt and my baggy gray sweats, I stepped into Team Fitness gym to begin a five-month transformation I couldn't afford. I've never had extra to spend, and certainly not on something as vain as a bodybuilding competition, but my husband said he'd figure out a way to pay for it to celebrate my milestone birthday.
On the wall behind the desk of my new trainer, Yelena, hung a picture of a woman in a black tank top and cargo pants standing in the desert with a shotgun in hand.
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