Trapped in a Bad 80's Prom Dress

In the spring of 1987, I was a senior in high school living in the western suburbs of Chicago.  Senior prom was quickly approaching. Senior Prom.  Those two words in and of themselves invoked a certain sense of insecurity deep in my psyche.  My track record of being asked to dances in high school was perfect.  A perfect zero that is.  Growing up the nerdy fat girl seemed to put a damper on such things, nonetheless, at the time I was being told from multiple sources I would regret it if I didn't go.  Ultimately, I would be set up with a friend of a friend who went to a different school. With that taken care of, it was full on 80's prom mode.

I think the thing the girls of today in their sleek skimpy gowns do not understand is that back then, we were all about the poof.  The "Gone With the Wind" style of gigantic gown that required multiple layers of crinoline skirts underneath to make you as wide as the door from the waist down.  We dyed our shoes to perfectly match and found a way to make our hair as wide and overdone as our dresses.  I will never forget mine.  It was a floor length white gown with a fitted bodice, that required a tight corset with metal stays to hold me together (side note, God bless the good people of Spanx) and gigantic poofy sleeves.   Oh yes.  I was ready for prom 1987 style.

The evening would go as you would imagine for a blind date for a couple of 17 year olds.  My dress was so big, it was awkward in the car, and I am still not sure how I got through the revolving door at The Ambassador East Hotel on North State where The Pump Room would serve us our dinner.  We would go on to the dance and do what any 17 year old does on a blind date.  Have a series of awkward dances with a stranger I didn't really have anything in common with and multiple trips to the bathroom with my best friend to gossip about the cool girls we never really fit in with.  The night would end with an awkward hug and a little peck that landed somewhere between my lips and my cheek from a person I would never hear from again.  To be fair, I do not even recall his name.

As I went in the house that night, it was time to get out of this marshmallow mess that somehow seemed the height of fashion at the time.  That's when the real struggle began.  The invisible zipper. The zipper hidden on the side of the dress that had a layer of fabric over it  that had to be moved to get at the damn thing.  Unzipping, I found the zipper got caught on said fabric at every millimeter.  I could not get it down, I was trapped in the damn dress at 1:00 in the morning.  At that point the corset was poking me.  I was tired and frustrated from an awkward evening, and just wanted to be out of the damn thing. I finally had to wake my mom up who somehow had some magical method to undo it all in the blink of an eye and find the me that existed under all of that.

I had occasion to think about the tragic prom dress trapping of 1987 this week.  On Thanksgiving Day a client of mine and I braved the 8 degree cold to take on the Troy Turkey Trot.  We ran the 10k first and the 5k second.  This special shark has lost well over 100 pounds, and has come so far since her first 5k in June.  We ran the same pace for a change, prior to now, I would either run my own race, albeit a little quicker than her, or stay back to keep her moving.  There was none of that on Thursday, as we ran the same.  Much to my surprise this baby shark would even take off a block from the finish completely smoking me at the end.  This, at the time, was my proudest Mama Shark moment to date.  She had beaten her own demons and come out to smoke her mentor. I rested on the  satisfaction I experienced with that until it happened.  Race pictures.  Race pictures happened.  My earlier pride paled in comparison to this single photo.  It was taken 5.75 miles in.  Here we were stepping together with a look on her face of an unmatched freedom I have never seen in her before.  That expression right there trumped any pride I had in her beating me.

People ask me sometimes what it is like to spend decades of life fighting the demons of obesity.  Well, its kinda like being trapped in a God awful 80's prom dress that you have no idea how to get out of .  You wear this uncomfortable monstrosity everywhere you go for all to see, regardless of the venue, changes in season or fashion.  You are acutely aware of others' opinions of said horrific dress , and wish only to get out of the damn thing and feel like a normal human.  Yet what should be so easy, a zipper, somehow won't budge.  The harder the struggle over it, the more uncomfortable the whole thing becomes.  Over time you come to learn, at least if you are fortunate enough, that there is simply no real escape until someone else can quietly come to your rescue in the wee  hours and teach you how to work the invisible zipper for yourself.  When you are finally able to start to do that, the tight corset of obesity lets loose and you are left with the real person under the crinoline, and a carefree freedom that anything is possible with the right amount of support and tricks of the trade.

I guess that brings me back to the original statement.  Given that it was an awkward blind date, in a dress I could not get out of, did I actually end up regretting my senior prom? Well, I guess I could answer that with asking the same question about being obese.  Do I regret my multi decade long battle with obesity?  Looking back I would have to say no to both.  Both things made me the person I am today.  I have the privilege of taking these experiences and using them to help people emerge from the prisons of their own ugly dresses and learn to embrace the amazing person underneath. That makes any struggle worth enduring and reminds me every single day the best is yet to come.