I was 11 years old the first time an adult pointed out a dimple on my leg. I could feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks as I tried to melt into the floor. Something was wrong with me. Up until that point I had never given my body much thought. I loved my body, it served a purpose. I grew up with 4 brothers.  I was an athlete and a tomboy.  I could keep up with any boy in the neighborhood in a pick up game of basketball or baseball and I had always felt strong.  I ate what I wanted with little thought. 

That one thoughtless comment by an adult at the age of eleven led me down a long journey of battling eating disorders, body dysmorphia and low self-esteem.

My belief that there was something wrong with me was solidified a few months later while at a slumber party with friends. The girls decided to weigh themselves. I had never given much thought about what I weighed. The only time I had been on a scale was at a doctors office. When my turn came, I stepped...

Recently we were “outed”. Even though we took every precaution we knew to take, hiding our faces, geoblocking our location and blocking everyone in our personal lives from our social media accounts, it still got out.

We were prepared for it, we knew it would eventually happen and we were ready to have those tough conversations.  What we weren’t ready for or didn’t expect, was the loving and kind way that our family and friends, real friends, would respond to it.

Our family didn’t bat an eye and continued to love us, no questions asked. They didn’t chastise us or lecture us. In fact my 74yr old Mother-in-law was unphased. A true expression of unconditional love. Our friends, our TRUE friends supported us and told us basically to tell everyone else to go fuck themselves. They had our backs and could care less.

What we’re “doing”, providing health and fitness to a demographic who want and need it, isn’t wrong. Nor does it...