When I started surfing regularly, any breast abundance left that might have spilled over my bra’s A cup turned right into pecs. I had had “turbo tits” for exactly one week when I first went on the Pill a little before my 17th birthday, which I even had to show to my mom, I was so thrilled and astonished. With the exception of that wonder week, I had always been small chested, lean. I knew what I was and I was cool with it. Despite feeling wistful when I would see my more buxom friends’ breasts jiggling over their bikini tops at the beach like grown women’s, I also liked that I looked as physically strong as I felt. Falling asleep on my stomach as a teenager, I regularly thanked my body, specifically my boobs. I wore leotards to dance class and tube tops, braless, before and after. My small breasts never made a scene in P.E. when I long-jumped and sprinted, aggressively. I felt compact, tidy, built for balance and motion. I became the only girl on the high school wrestling team, something I would never have dreamed of trying had I been voluptuous. This part of my body looked like an athlete’s, which I’m convinced helped me identify as one.