Apr
16
April 16, 2007
Today a coworker asked me if I had lost some weight, and I tried to think of something just this side of human sacrifice to show my gratitude while still maintaining professional dignity. Instead, I found myself awkwardly grinding one foot around on the floor in a cartoonish “Aw, shucks” maneuver, completely unable to come up with a normal human response (“Yes, thanks for noticing”, maybe?) and producing little non-verbal peeps and bloops of flustered please-direct-your-attention-elsewhere discomfort. In terms of socially dorktastic reactions, I suppose suddenly and voluminously crapping my own pants would have been worse, but for crying out loud. I’m 33 years old, when will I ever shed my inner (endlessly embarrassed) gawky teenager?
Speaking of such things, I’ve been thinking an awful lot about body image in the last month or so as I focus on changing my own body through diet and exercise. I feel like everything I’ve been doing has been really healthy, and that I’m hopefully developing some long-term good habits, but I’m starting to wonder where the process should ultimately take me.
The fact that I’m actively working on improving my physical condition means that every day I’m assessing my progress, and while I do celebrate my victories I also bemoan the perfection that still isn’t there. How will I know when I’ve reached my goal, when I am in a shape that is optimal for my health and well-being?
I want to take the empowering, invigorating benefits that have come from this lifestyle change and really maximize my potential. I want to feel strong and look great. I don’t want to be in an endless loop of self-criticism; I want to transcend that bullshit with my fitness level, not get further mired in it.
I’m proud of what I’ve achieved so far and now I know I can do it, I can stick with a program even when it’s inconvenient or dreary and fucking-A, that feels so good. It feels so good to have found the strength and discipline within myself, it feels so good to turn the volume down on the self criticism and give myself a well-deserved high-five for what I’ve been able to do.
The more fit I become, the more I want to get to the next level. I have no idea what that really means, though. Is it a clothing size? A number on the scale? Something I see in the mirror?
I’m trying to figure out how to balance the legitimate positive effects of working to improve my fitness against the corrosive realm of comparisons and fault-finding. I wanted to lose weight to feel better about myself, and I do, but I also want to be sane about this. I want to develop the inner strength to not nitpick over “problem areas” or feel like a criminal if I eat dessert. I want to be a strong woman who pours her energy into the things that enrich life, not the things that erode joy and self confidence.
Most of all, I don’t want my self worth to be determined by the state of my body. Body image issues are such a hobble for so many of us, they limit our momentum in life because we get distracted. We focus on the things that we aren’t, instead of the things that we are. How much more clarity would we have if we could shut up the voices that tell us we don’t look good enough?
I’ve made progress towards quieting those voices, but I have a ways to go. And some of that work can’t be done with exercise DVDs or low-calorie meals, the change has to happen in my head.
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A note: this entire topic seems shamefully self-absorbed in light of today’s events at Virginia Tech. Forgive my timing.
Apr
15
Weekend wrap-up, marinated
Filed Under Uncategorized | 32 Comments
April 15, 2007
We gave Riley a buzz-cut on Saturday, mostly due to the fact that his hair had grown out from the last time we clippered him and it was woefully apparent that we’d missed a few spots. With random tufts of longer-than-normal fuzzy toddler hair protruding here and there from his scalp, he was starting to look just the tiniest, tiniest bit like one of those Chinese crested dogs. As I lovingly documented elsewhere, Riley is not exactly what you might call a fan of having his hair clippered; his haircuts always involve thrashing limbs and dramatic wailing and sometimes even exertion-related farting—and that’s just from his father, har har HAR!
Newly shorn, semi-pitiful.
It wasn’t all tears and sorrow this weekend, though, we also had a very successful trip to a nearby farm during a particularly photogenic stretch of weather. I imagine as long as we live in this area Riley will grow up being intimately familiar with the Kelsey Creek Farm, because it’s such a great place for a family outing. Despite the proximity of the bustling Lake Hills Connector and downtown Bellevue, the farm always feels like a deliciously secluded slice of country life, complete with animals to visit and lovely, eye-soothing scenery.
The weather’s been schizophrenic: sunny, rainy, cloudy, cold, sunny. It’s like the skies can’t make up their minds, like they’re trying on clothes. Hmmm, how about this? Mmmm . . . nah. We spent the weekend clambering in and out of fleece jackets, stuffing Riley into coats and vests and peeling him back out. Spring would show up for a few minutes, then hustle out the door leaving cold dark gusts in its wake.
I wish the sunshine would stick around for a while, because not only is our backyard in dire need of some drying out (it’s like a dogshit-studded marsh back there), but I went and got a pedicure today—with my friend Sarah, as part of a fabulous Ladies-Who-Lunch spa afternoon—and my toes are so goddamn spiffy it’s a crime against nature to be hiding them under waterproof hiking shoes. My toes are looking California, but it’s feeling Minnesota outside. Woe.
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My brother in law, the mortician, has been really into smoking and barbecuing meat lately. Like making his own jerky and so on, with this fancy smoker contraption. In the course of discussing the various ways of flavoring the beef/chicken/whatever, I asked if he had ever considered using a (clean, OBVIOUSLY) embalming machine to actually circulate marinade through a cut of meat.
You should have SEEN HIS FACE. I’ve never in my whole life felt so smart, I swear to god. It was like I just invented gravity right then and there. I don’t know if he’ll actually, you know, pursue this particular idea, but man. Marinade embalming? GENIUS, apparently.
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