{"id":3234,"date":"2013-04-11T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2013-04-11T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1millionbestdownloads.com\/mind-body-the-naked-truth-a-look-at-bared-breasts-stretch-marks-sexy-sweat-and-more\/"},"modified":"2013-04-11T00:00:00","modified_gmt":"2013-04-11T00:00:00","slug":"mind-body-the-naked-truth-a-look-at-bared-breasts-stretch-marks-sexy-sweat-and-more","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1millionbestdownloads.com\/mind-body-the-naked-truth-a-look-at-bared-breasts-stretch-marks-sexy-sweat-and-more\/","title":{"rendered":"The Naked Truth: A Look at Bared Breasts, Stretch Marks, Sexy Sweat, and More"},"content":{"rendered":"

Remember the Sex and the City<\/em> episode when the famous foursome meet at a day spa for some R&R, only to learn that Charlotte (read Health's<\/em> interview with Sex and the City<\/em> star Kristin Davis) is unable to shed her towel in the steam room? She's convinced that other women are staring at her thighs. But after her confidence is bolstered by a body-image pep talk from Carrie, Charlotte returns to the spa, nervously unwraps her towel, enters the steam room, and bares all. Just as her anxiety is about to reach a fever pitch, validation comes in the form of another woman's voice: "I'd kill for your breasts."<\/p>\n

That woman's envy and Charlotte's own certainty that her thighs don't measure up explain the problem of women's body image perfectly. No matter where we go in life, we convince ourselves that someone else is skinnier, prettier, sexier—or cellulite-free<\/a>. We rarely realize just how beautiful we are.<\/p>\n

I know this because I have witnessed more naked women up close and personal than the average adult male sees in his lifetime. From gazing at gazongas to poring over pedicures, I have immersed myself in the locker room of my gym, scribbling notes, eavesdropping, stealing glances, and, when the situation called for it, just downright staring.<\/p>\n

In the locker room, bodily obsessions and emotional vulnerability are reflected in the mirror and on the scale. I've taken note of the insults women hurl at themselves like drunken baseball fans. And I've realized that every body part and every owner has a story to tell and a lesson we can share, from the women with immaculate bodies who change in the bathroom stalls to avoid imagined scrutiny to the heavier women who stroll around naked without a care; from breast implants and mastectomy scars to bellies swollen from pregnancy and bottoms sagging from old age.<\/p>\n

The beauty of the breast<\/strong>
When you take a few hours to study real women's breasts (as covertly as possible, mind you—getting caught is about as fun as seeing flashing red-and-blue lights in your rearview mirror), they exhibit a snowflake-like quality. No two pair are alike, and every duo is dazzling. While those that stand at attention signify youth and the promise of a long future, those that swing low bear the signs of infusing life into children, of fighting gravity for decades and, though losing the battle, winning the war. From perky to pendulous, barely A to DD, breasts tell a story.<\/p>\n

I consider my upper half my better half. Size 36B, my breasts are perky and ski-sloped, the left one a tad more ample than the right. My areolas are peachy-pink; my nipples an almost exact match to my lips. But I still compare myself to the endless array of breasts I'm exposed to on a daily basis. I can fluctuate easily between wishing I had Debra Messing's barely dipping cleavage to Pamela Anderson's cavernous mountains in a heart-beat, depending on the night, occasion, or weather. We always want what we haven't got.<\/p>\n

Instead of forever denouncing your breasts as too big or too small, try to appreciate their distinctiveness: They are a natural, beautiful part of our bodies that all too often get disrespected—or ignored by other women for fear the observer will be thought of as freaky or (gasp!) a lesbian. In my opinion, it's better to be an open, enlightened pseudo-bisexual than inhibited and uneducated. Look … just don't touch. And remember: Variety is the spice of life. If we were all 34Bs (or 5-foot-5, or redheaded, or had the same exact voice), the world would be a pretty boring place.<\/p>\n

Next Page: Getting steamed up<\/a> [ pagebreak ]Getting steamed up<\/strong>
Wetness of unknown origin freaks me out. So it seems counterintuitive that, unlike Charlotte, I would love the steam room so much. After all, it's just a hot box filled with other people's sweat, their perspiration emanating through their pores, sliding off their skin, and ultimately condensing.<\/p>\n

And yet, on some days as I leave work and head to the gym, all I can think about is my post-workout trip to the steam room. How good it will feel as I open the door and that steamy blast of 100-plus-degree air hits my face, instantly curling the hairs around my forehead and making me squint.<\/p>\n

I had the privilege of introducing my dear friend Diane to the steam room. She had never really considered it, for both trichological and psychological reasons (she has a touch of claustrophobia). But she adored it. "I love that feeling of sweating," Diane says. "It feels cleansing. It feels like you're doing something good for yourself. You kind of get addicted."<\/p>\n

At first, Diane used three towels: one wrapped around her hair, one around her body, and one to lie down on. But as she's grown more at ease, she's come to recognize that steam roomies aren't there to judge. Nobody cares and, besides, who can see through all that steam? "There's large, small, skinny, fat," Diane says. "You realize nobody's looking at you, and you're like, 'Why am I leaving early because I'm uncomfortably hot when I could stay later and just take my towel off?'" So she'll take it off and maybe lay it across her lap, napkin-like, for propriety's sake.<\/p>\n

Much like wearing all black or having a nice faux tan, glistening with steam-room sweat does wonders for a woman's body. You seem slimmer, and your muscles are highlighted in all the right places. Face it: You just look sexy.<\/p>\n