Oct
11
I had that triathlon in my mind for what seemed like so long, once it was over with I actually felt a little empty without having some big intimidating goal to work towards. It made me start thinking about what other sorts of things I could accomplish, which is probably the very best reason to do something that scares the shit out of you.
There are some maybe-silly, maybe-awesome things I want to do in the next year—things I’ve always just assumed I can’t do, or that I’ve been too freaked out to try. Like climbing that big-assed rock wall at the REI store, skating with a roller derby practice group, and taking part in a writing group. Also on my list: learn the Thriller dance. Because, well, everything about the Thriller dance is made of awesome. I didn’t know how, but I knew I wanted to do it.
A few days ago I stumbled onto a page seemingly custom-designed to make my dreams come TRUE. How could I pass this up? Sure, I can’t dance and I’m socially anxious and oh yeah, I can’t dance, but what the hell, right? I shanghaied Ashley into agreeing to do it with me, and all week I’ve been getting progressively more worried about the big group rehearsal. I watched some how-to videos which just made me more nervous: that routine is hard, man. I sort of thought the zombies just staggered around and rarrrr’d in unison with a few jazz hands or something, but no, there’s actual choreography in there.
What if I tripped and fell? What if I was facing one way while everyone else was facing the other way? What if I couldn’t do any of the moves at ALL and I had to just go and sit in the corner and burn with shame?
Do I even have to tell you that none of those things happened and it was actually incredibly fun and I had a fantastic, sweaty, successful time?
The SCARE! maneuver, which involves being scary.
The signature Thriller move, the ROAR!
On Saturday, October 24, Ashley and I are going to take part in the Thrill the World event and dance the Thriller routine in full costume and makeup in downtown Seattle. It sounds like something that anyone would do for fun and not a big deal at all, right? But it kind of is, for me. It’s about actively chasing down goals and going outside of my comfort zone and just, I don’t know, not being so stifled by my own self-imposed limitations.
Yes, I really did just get all introspective and shit over a bunch of dancing zombies. So much in life is about zombies, really.
Anyway, if you need further proof that learning a choreographed dance routine is in fact a really, REALLY big challenge for me, here you go:
Oct
9
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.
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