Oct

9

The F word

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Right after I posted my last entry—in which I refer to my body fat (not “my body as fat”, mind you, but the actual measurable fat on my body)—I got a PR email asking me to take part in Fat Talk Free week.

I also got one comment from someone who feels I shouldn’t talk about trying to reduce fat, presumably because the implication is that if I don’t like the fat on my own body, I also have opinions about the fat on other people’s bodies.

Now, I’m not addressing the issue because of one comment, but because I’m truly interested in where we draw the lines in the whole body image/health conversation.

A few times now I’ve been accused of buying into a “thin = best” mindset and thus contributing to the mountains of disorder-triggering crap out there that’s designed to create an unrealistic ideal and make women feel bad about themselves. People love to point me to Kate Harding’s website, which I guess is supposed to make me understand that talking about my own interest in losing weight or getting in better shape is anti-feminist and also hateful towards people who are the same size as me or larger.

Which is . . . bullshit.

For one thing, if I say I want to lose fat from my body and you also have some fat on your body? I am not saying that I think you too should lose that fat. I totally get how it’s easy to feel defensive about it, because I often have a helpless knee-jerk reaction when people who talk about parenting choices that are different from mine. It’s easy for me to fall into the trap of believing that the mom who co-sleeps thinks less of me for putting my kid in a crib, but unless co-sleeping mom is a judgmental douche, the only relevant fact is that co-sleeping is the right personal choice for her. Even though she wouldn’t choose to put her kid in a crib, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t support my choice to do so.

I may not choose to be the same size as you. It doesn’t mean I care what size you are.

Fat has become such a loaded word that it seems some people feel you have to be a certain size to even be allowed to use it. Well, guess what? We all have fat. We have essential fat and storage fat and our fat stores energy and it cushions and insulates our bodies and it peeps out from the tops of our jeans sometimes. When I talk about wanting to reduce fat, I’m not sitting in a corner sobbing over pictures of rail-thin supermodels saying “I’m soooooooooooo faaaaat!” and I’m not saying I think you’re fat and I’m not saying fat people suck. I’m saying I want to reduce my own personal fat.

Why do I want to reduce fat? Some people might say I’m perfectly healthy and should just be happy with myself. Aside from the obvious point of that decision not belonging to anyone but me, I think there’s a difference between unhealthy, unhappy drain-circling with regards to body image, and a concentrated effort on taking steps to improve one’s health.

For me, being healthy is not just about fitting in my jeans, it’s about how I feel when I’m eating the right foods and working to make my body lean and strong. It’s about the increased energy, the self confidence, the mood elevation, the new levels of patience, the feeling of being on top of my life in so many good ways.

And, you know, it’s about fitting in my jeans TOO. I like the way I look when I’m not eating crap food. I like being able to wear the clothes I own and not having to buy new ones. I like maintaining, not gaining.

Over the last couple months I’ve watched my eating slide off the rails, and I’ve seen the effects it’s had on my body and my state of mind. I don’t like it. I’m working to fix it.

It’s about me. Yeah, I’m using the F word, but I just don’t see how what I’m saying is a negative thing to read. I want to lose fat and get back to the shape I was in before I spent several weeks eating Doritos, is there really something wrong with that? Is it politically incorrect to stop eating Doritos?

What are your thoughts on talking about fitness and weight loss while still supporting the cause against chronic body image dissatisfaction? The last thing I want to is make anyone feel bad about themselves when I’m talking about what I’m doing to make myself feel better, but . . . I don’t know, I’m not sure I’m willing to own that repercussion.

Oct

7

Refocusing

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Yesterday I had to do a periodic fitness evaluation at my gym, where a trainer leads me through a series of progressively terrible exercises in order to determine at what point my lungs start to actually protrude from my nostrils. No part of this is fun, from the 12-minute speed gallop on the treadmill to the arm-trembling bench presses, but the worst part by far is the fat test conducted at the beginning. In terms of grievous psychological discomfort, there’s nothing quite like having various parts of your fat pinched by another person, especially when said person is not in fact a matronly woman with a mustache and a nun’s habit but a handsome young GYM TRAINER.

The worst thing is he has to sort of grab ahold of my fat with his actual fingers before putting the calipers around it. I have to tug down my shorts slightly and hold my shirt up a bit so he can get at the flab hanging around my belly, which basically causes my brain to shear away from the horror of the situation and take up residence in the bottom of my left foot, leaving me slack-jawed and silent as he chatters away about whatever the hell he’s talking about. I try and take solace from the fact that he does these tests all the time and it’s probably like being a doctor or something, but truthfully that thought never helps me when I’m in the company of an actual doctor, especially when they’re peering at my jacked-open girl parts. Some things just aren’t natural, and I’d put “having a dude pinch my fat” in the same discomforting file as “having a medically trained, totally professional woman crank apart my hoo-ha with a metal duck bill and stick a giant mascara wand in there”.

The results of the test were unsurprising: I’ve been doing well on the fitness front, not so much on the healthy eating. I know this, of course—you can’t spend over a month stuffing crap in your Twinkie-hole without realizing there’s going to be some fallout—and actually this was already the week I vowed to get my shit together and re-focus on my diet. I didn’t really need the extra wakeup call of a fat test, but I suppose it’s useful all the same. The numbers confirmed what my jeans were telling me, that the junk food binge has not gone by unnoticed. Every part of me is measuring bigger, and while all the working out is making me stronger, all the pigging out is making me flabbier.

I used to have this vague notion that if you exercised a lot, you could pretty much eat what you wanted. Wrong! Those cookies will undo every goddamn mile you ran, and hey, breaking news from the No-Shit Gazette, LIFE ISN’T FAAAIR.

Anyway, if you want to join me in this renewed diet focus, maybe add your own tips or daily food diaries or whatever, I’ll be posting every day over here. As a related topic, if any of you would like to contribute an article to Bodies in Motivation, I’m looking to add:

– Success stories (anything you’ve done fitness or healthwise that you’re proud of)
– Challenges (questions about a fitness or diet issue you’re struggling with, to be answered by readers)
– Gear or clothing reviews
– Exercise write-ups (any kind of class or discipline you’re tried that you don’t mind describing)

Those areas have been a bit neglected lately in favor of ongoing personal blog posts, and I’d like to build them back up. Bodies is a labor of love, so unfortunately there’s no monetary compensation for contributing, but people will read and get inspired and give advice and, you know, that’s pretty awesome. So hit me up via email (sundry at gmail dot com) if you’ve got anything you’d like to share, I’d love to hear from you.

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