The very first time your jeans rip open because they are worn out from your thighs rubbing together is a sobering moment. You probably saw the wear and tear forming long before there was an evident struggle between your pale cheeks and the denim that no longer wants to cover them, but you were clinging to the hope that those jeans would make it until you found a pair that fit just as well. This is an all too familiar struggle for me.

I have struggled with the sight of my own thighs since I was very young. In fact, it was long before the thigh gap got popular. Growing up, I was an avid and aggressive skier, so I maintained a much more muscular lower half than a lot of young beings. I also come from a genetically "thicker" family, one whose thighs denote being "well built."

With that in mind, I started noticing the maximized size of my thighs just before freshman year of high school. When running in gym class, my legs would rub together, creating a painful red rash, often referred to as chafing. In my mind, my body was doing something that only happened to elderly people's underarms or to people who ran long distance; not to 15 year olds who ran for 10 minutes in gym class. Despite my apparent defect, I played soccer and rugby.

Approximately seven and a half years later, I still feel some contempt for my thighs. Appropriately fitting pants are very difficult to find, and I often wind up sweating in the dressing room trying to squeeze into what is the right size at Lucky Brand but not the right size at Buckle. I’m thankful that leggings are as popular as they are because they are much more convenient than jeans. They’re also much cheaper to replace when they rip up the back.

You could say I have a love/hate relationship with my thighs. Well, that goes for my whole body, because, low and behold, even a more confident woman is subject to the ills of media representations of the female body. Sometimes I look in the mirror in the morning and cringe. Sometimes when I shimmy into my pants, I sigh disappointedly. But, as much as I try to hate my thighs, I do love them.

I said it. I love my thighs. They have carried me through three seasons of mediocre soccer playing. They carried me through two seasons of rugby, the moment in time when I loved my body the most. Rugby taught me that my body was strong, and that the more I nurtured it the better I would feel and perform. Then college happened; but that's a junk-food binge eating story for another time.

I have since stopped playing soccer and rugby, but I still live on the mountain. My thighs have carried me down the slope at high speeds and carried me gracefully through the moguls without error. They have carried me and supported me through every cornice I’ve dropped. If they can help me to do something so beautiful so masterfully well, they can’t be all that bad can they?

They carry me through my daily pursuits. They carry me to class, to my job, to job interviews, to the park, to new destinations. They have carried me up a fourteener.

There is a flawed disconnect in the far reaches of my mind. My muscles, bones and ligaments do something so beautiful with instructions from my brain, but somewhere I got this idea that I was unworthy because my thighs are large. My greatest insecurity is the same thing that carries me through my greatest triumphs and pastimes. I’m still learning to love every part of myself for what I do well.

Learning to love yourself is one of the most difficult things you can do. There will always be a voice in the back of your mind telling you that something about you isn’t good enough. That something about you doesn’t fit an unobtainable standard of beauty; and yet, you can do amazing things with the body you criminalize. That "evil" body that won't conform to an A4 waist line is capable of something more beautiful and meaningful than the ads and memes telling you that you're inadequate.

When I ski moguls, I am fluid. My technique and form make men and women alike envious. Of course, I could always improve somewhere, but what I can do with my thighs, the possible bane of my existence, is beautiful. What your body is capable of is far more important than what it looks like. Your body is a tool, to be nourished, nurtured and loved, so you can conquer whatever it is that makes what you find ugly beautiful.