I went running. It was not pleasant.

I ran for a full six minutes this morning.

Not continuously. But all within a fifteen-minute period, so...count it!

Overall, I hear positive things about running, usually from more-or-less smug people who think kale is a food group all its own. Apparently it's good for your heart, among other things. And apparently it's not in fact normal to feel winded after opening the fridge door. But that's not why I went running. I didn't do it to feel accomplished, or because the endorphins made me feel super great, or because my doctor laughed when he told me I have runner's knee. "It's not just runners who get it," he said with a smirk. I wasn't even running because something was chasing me.

Well, actually, I guess I was being chased, in a way. By society.

I went running because I've gained a few pounds since getting engaged, and I had a three-weeks-before-the-wedding panic that I probably should have lost weight for the wedding. As if it's my solemn duty as a Bride to be thin and beautiful.

Some other ways I've fulfilled this duty:

• Spent so much money on makeup and so much time learning how to put it on. I spent several hours the other night reading about how to choose the right blush for your skin tone. Why do I require so much practice? Because makeup isn't fun for me the way it is for many women, so I never bothered learning about it until I had a Wedding to prepare for. 
• Considered waxing, which I have never done before and which I think is frankly insane, just for the wedding day.
• Considered fake tanning.
• Considered spending $60 on a haircut when my hair is going to be up anyway and I've been cutting my own hair since high school. 
• Almost paid $30+ for teeth whitening strips. 
• Used a special deodorant that physically traps the sweat inside your glands - which, how can that be healthy?! - because I'm sweatier than your average bear, and brides can't have pit stains, right?
• Hard-core dieted for six non-consecutive weeks over the past year. Ended each round by hunger-sobbing in the shower.
• Snarled at girls at the farmer's market last weekend because they were cute and pretty and able to put together outfits and I felt so. much. less. than.

None of these things is all that bad on its own (except the snarling and the hunger-sobbing); it's just the fact that I wouldn't care about or consider doing any of them - much less all of them at the same time - if I weren't Getting Married and having pictures taken of me by a professional photographer whom we're paying several thousands of dollars to capture the way we are now, on our one and only most precious wedding day. Won't all that money be wasted if our professional photographer is taking pictures of an ugly chubster?

Dudes, it's hard to remember sometimes that I shouldn't care about all that. That's not what weddings are about, but that's definitely how they're sold. We're shown in magazines and blogs that they're about aesthetics, and the people involved are part of that. It's strange to look at friends' weddings on Facebook, see How It's Done, and then do the opposite. It's tough, when friends and family are asking whether I'm going to have my makeup and hair done by a professional, to say, "Nope. I'm just gonna use my face." I always feel like I have to add a disclaimer: "Will this face be good enough, do you think? Should I order a new one before the wedding?" I don't mean to be snarky; they don't ask it as a subtle hint that I need professional help (I hope!). But the very question and the fact that a makeup artist is expected makes me feel abnormal or lacking because I don't want pampering. I just don't like it. It involves a lot of strangers touching me.

Self-esteem and looks and weight are obviously very complicated and intertwined and nearly impossible to navigate. Even though we seem to be moving away somewhat from the scary-skinny ideal, the idea of a healthy woman is still a tiny, tanned girl in a neon sports bra, beaming and sweat-free even though she just finished a 10k warmup before her actual workout and she's feelin' great, you guys!!! Somehow she always has a pert blonde ponytail. And also she's on a mountain.

"Just be healthy!" she chirps, but this type of craziness doesn't have anything to do with health. Nobody sees a bride walking up the aisle and says, "Ah, she's looking particularly robust!" This is about centuries of women being told on a daily basis to gain weight or lose weight, to change their bodies with corsets and shape-wear to fit the fashions, to buy this and that product so they will be presentable, to diet and diet, always to diet, not so they'll be healthy but so they'll be pleasing to look at. Admired. Loved.

All that pressure is just amplified for weddings. I think we forget how insane this all is because it's been normalized. A girl has to be pampered before her wedding because this is her big day! The one time she can feel like a freaking princess! Maybe it'll be easier if I don't think of myself as a Bride, beautiful and perfect and angelic, but as Carrie, some girl who's getting married. "Oh, the one who sweats?" they all say. "She has a bit of a pouch, right?" 

Why, yes I do. Maybe I should run more.

Hoo boy. Remember when this started out, how it seemed like it would be another light, funny post? Oof.

This isn't to say that women shouldn't pamper themselves whenever they want to or change how they look. Just that I don't particularly want to and I hate that I feel obligated to change myself for this one day.

It's also a reminder for me to think kindly about other people. Even if they look perfectly put-together and it fills me with rage.

So, for our wedding, I will wear makeup, but I don't want much and I'm doing it myself (read: having a friend do it). I am going to exercise, because these body image demons can't be expelled in the next three weeks. And also...the getting-winded-opening-the-fridge thing. But I'll try not to plank myself into tears of self-loathing or do anything too extreme, like go running again (I learned my lesson during minute four when I started to feel a slight twinge. "My runner's knee!" I cried, startling a duck on the nearby pond). I will try not to spiral into despair worrying that people will judge me if I have a little jiggle with my wiggle on the dance floor. I'm not going to whiten my teeth or tan my skin or spend any more money on beauty products. I am going to use that crazy gland-blocking deodorant temporarily, because it's just good manners not to dampen other people on the dance floor. But I refuse to diet anymore. Most people haven't seen me on a diet, and there's a reason for that. You might have seen me get a little moody if I'm PMSing or something, but when I'm on a diet, life is not worth living. I weep over bread. I'd throw myself on a slice of cake to shield it if a bomb went off. I am inconsolable. And nonsensical. And I hate it.

Meanwhile, if Bill manages to show up on the day of the wedding, conscious and wearing pants, he will already have exceeded expectations. The only questions he's been asked about his appearance are, "Is Carrie making you shave your beard?" and "Are you gonna wear a kilt?"

No to both. But just in case he does want to do a little primping:

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