Grab bags

Naked on the News

It’s the suit that makes the woman, girl

You can’t be swimming sets at swim practice, do a flip turn, and have a runaway breast break out. Not only does it disrupt your rhythm. It’s distracting for other swimmers — for various reasons.

You can’t buy a racing suit at Target because it’ll fall apart after the third chlorinated two-hour swim.

If you have a kid on the swim team, you can buy racing suits at Districts, State, and Nationals but that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to wait for your kid to qualify to buy a decent racing suit.

Buying a swimsuit online is like buying a bra online. It’s silly. Even when you find a goodie, they end up changing up the style the following season. It’s tricky.

You never know what you’re going to get. That’s why I always buy an item called a grab bag suit.

Grab bag suits are cheaper, but there’s one caveat. You have no idea what you’re getting. It’s a crap shoot.

Many people would see that as a deterrent, but not me. I like a surprise. There are so many colors and styles to choose from, the grab bag suit makes the choice for me. I love that. It’s like a present.

Usually, they’re awesome. They’re like easter eggs. Always wild and colorful — the suits that got left behind because they were over the top. Until yesterday, the styles have been pretty conservative. A couple have been minorly skimpy but nothing off the charts —

Until I opened my grab bag suit yesterday. I was surprised when I saw it was black with melon red stitching — pretty and simple compared to the confetti patterns grab bags usually are. It seemed like a lot of people would buy that color until —

I held it up. Uh oh. A peek-a-boo suit. If you don’t know what a peek-a-boo suit is, you haven’t been to a high school girls' swim meet. Skimpy on steroids.

I contemplated returning it because I am not in Italy or in high school. I am in the Midwest. Then I remembered, no returns for grab bags. But how would I race in this or even practice in this without giving people a show?

I had an idea. It would be my Friday suit.

Every Friday, we have sauna club. Sauna club is when you go into the lake and run back and forth between the portable sauna and the lake. Hot cold hot cold. More like freezing boiling, freezing steaming.

I thought I’d attempt this skimpy suit’s maiden voyage at Sauna Club. Hell, it was 630 am at the lakefront — who would see me?

Everyone, it turned out. As soon as I got out of my car, a reporter approached me. She introduced herself. They were doing a story on the our lake swimmer group and the Sauna Club. Of course, they were. So, I did my interview in my new suit. What the hell? You’re only publicly naked once.

Then I ran into the Lake and the reporter followed me with her camera. All on film. Yay!

When I raced out of the 30-degree lake, my swimmer tribe’s jaws dropped. “What the hell, Amy? Sexy!”

“Grab bag,” I yelled. They laughed. “But fuck it, I like it.”

They nodded in understanding and approval. Then, I walked past all the dogwalkers, the bikers, the commuters, and the fellow sauna people.

By the time, I got back into the sauna, I felt pretty badass. Sure, my tits were almost falling out and I might as well have been wearing a bikini based on how much tummy I was showing, but I felt fierce.

How many people run around half-naked in March with 45 mph winds, and snowfall and end up on tv? Don’t answer that.

But, I for one, felt acceptance. Of my body, of my badassness, or my decision to wear it cause I bought it. Own it. And I’m pretty sure I rocked it, but if I see myself running into the lake naked on the news, I might relocate to Europe.