Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Me & the Scale
I joined a gym. A fancy gym with personal trainers, saunas, and about a hundred cardio and weight lifting machines. I am paying for a gym membership and for a trainer, so the cost for this gym is over $100 per month. I feel simultaneously glad and guilty that the cost is so much. Glad because the cost is a big motivator. I am paying as much to go work out as I do for the energy to heat and cool my home. It's obviously a priority. Guilty because we recently made the decision to pursue finding and purchasing a home, so I always have the sneaking suspicion that there are better uses for the money.
I have been hitting the gym for about a week now. I have already weighed myself twice. When I joined the gym, I told myself, This is about getting healthier. The ability to climb stairs without getting winded, the ability to get through the day without feeling exhausted by bed time. But, of course, it's also about my size. When I had my evaluative appointment with the personal trainer she said pointing to my percentage of body fat (46, if you can believe it), "You are doing badly." She must have seen my face because she immediately reminded me that this was just about my body, not about my abilities in work or life, but simply the condition of the health of my body. Like so many other times though, the damage was done. My worst fears were confirmed: I am not good enough.
Since that meeting last week, I have gone to the gym six times. I've eaten better meals, and said "no" to desserts, seconds, and empty calorie snacks. I got on the scale and I'd lost three pounds. I know, logically, that this is a fluke of nature. I know that on my period week, I will gain almost five pounds of whatever mysterious substance attaches itself to my body and makes my stomach fluff out like rising dough. I know that a person can lose large amounts of water weight and not actually change the landscape of their bodies. But as soon as I remember this, I feel like a failure again. I have reassured myself that my efforts of working out diligently, eating healthily, and actually seeing the scale number drop are still not enough. Whatever I am, it's not enough.
I have never been what you might call a "head-turner," but I remember vividly an experience from last summer. I walked the same path two days in a row. The first day, I was alone and pretty much invisible. I passed moms and kids who paid me no mind, a group of roofers who were nailing in tar paper, and a couple of young guys running in the park. No one much cared that I was there. The next day, I followed the same route walking with my friend who is a professional ballet dancer. Moms and kids smiled at her and the roofers stopped hammering to watch her walk by. It was one of the few times in my life that I was reminded what a powerful currency a beautiful body can be. I didn't say anything because I figured it would make my friend uncomfortable, but it made me wonder if life would be different if I had a different genetic make-up—one that made me tall and slender—and made different choices—ate less caloric foods and worked out regularly. The one, I can't do anything about. I will always be short and thick. I know this because I have been in good physical shape before, and I was still short and thick. The second I can.
So I'm trying again. For health, I assure myself. Because nothing will make me into a tall, slender, beautiful girl. I can only be the most healthy and beautiful version of myself. I hope it's good enough.
I have been hitting the gym for about a week now. I have already weighed myself twice. When I joined the gym, I told myself, This is about getting healthier. The ability to climb stairs without getting winded, the ability to get through the day without feeling exhausted by bed time. But, of course, it's also about my size. When I had my evaluative appointment with the personal trainer she said pointing to my percentage of body fat (46, if you can believe it), "You are doing badly." She must have seen my face because she immediately reminded me that this was just about my body, not about my abilities in work or life, but simply the condition of the health of my body. Like so many other times though, the damage was done. My worst fears were confirmed: I am not good enough.
Since that meeting last week, I have gone to the gym six times. I've eaten better meals, and said "no" to desserts, seconds, and empty calorie snacks. I got on the scale and I'd lost three pounds. I know, logically, that this is a fluke of nature. I know that on my period week, I will gain almost five pounds of whatever mysterious substance attaches itself to my body and makes my stomach fluff out like rising dough. I know that a person can lose large amounts of water weight and not actually change the landscape of their bodies. But as soon as I remember this, I feel like a failure again. I have reassured myself that my efforts of working out diligently, eating healthily, and actually seeing the scale number drop are still not enough. Whatever I am, it's not enough.
I have never been what you might call a "head-turner," but I remember vividly an experience from last summer. I walked the same path two days in a row. The first day, I was alone and pretty much invisible. I passed moms and kids who paid me no mind, a group of roofers who were nailing in tar paper, and a couple of young guys running in the park. No one much cared that I was there. The next day, I followed the same route walking with my friend who is a professional ballet dancer. Moms and kids smiled at her and the roofers stopped hammering to watch her walk by. It was one of the few times in my life that I was reminded what a powerful currency a beautiful body can be. I didn't say anything because I figured it would make my friend uncomfortable, but it made me wonder if life would be different if I had a different genetic make-up—one that made me tall and slender—and made different choices—ate less caloric foods and worked out regularly. The one, I can't do anything about. I will always be short and thick. I know this because I have been in good physical shape before, and I was still short and thick. The second I can.
So I'm trying again. For health, I assure myself. Because nothing will make me into a tall, slender, beautiful girl. I can only be the most healthy and beautiful version of myself. I hope it's good enough.
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