On Saturday I competed in my second bikini competition. I know many people think it’s vain and narcissistic…well, DUH! It totally is.
However, getting into fighting shape is no small feat. I train long hard hours. I follow a strict diet. And I attend classes to learn how to pose on the stage.
My butt is perpetually sore, and I haven’t been able to bend over to tie my shoes since January without letting out a grunt. Not a cute little, “Oh…ouch…teehee” grunt. This is more of a gorilla grunt.
People will make comments like, “Oh it’s not fun getting old.”
This has nothing to do with my age. Feel my butt! Go ahead, feel it!
…I don’t actually tell people to feel my butt…that would be weird…
…although, I think I may have said it to my hairdresser. And I think she did feel it…or was that someone else?
…Well, someone felt my ass after I told them to. Naomi was that you?
So Saturday I competed in a National level show: Hurray!
I came in second: Hurray!
There were only three ladies in my category: I suck.
Oh, I know everyone keeps saying, “Be proud, at least you got up on that stage!”
Yes, well, as my daughter, who is a competitive dancer, pointed out, “Second place just means you were the first to lose.”
So yeah. Fricken second place. Yeehaw.
Oh, I could be all warm and fuzzy, and say, that the girl who won first deserved to win. And maybe she did. But my butt…hello! Quarters could be bounced off of it. Not so much hers. But whatever. I don’t want to sound like a bad sport. (I’m saving that for another post entirely.)
The question is though, why do I compete? What is it that I want?
I’ve tried winning trophies. I’ve been in spelling bees, various sport teams, the debate team.
Forty three years and no trophy.
Both second place.
Now my goal is a first place trophy.
I guess I was accidentally given the first place trophy.
And in case you’re wondering: No. I’m not giving it back.