Weighty Issues

I thought long and hard about writing this entry. It can be a hard thing to share in public because I'm not sure what kind of reaction I'm going to get. I don't care so much what strangers think, but I know for SURE that I'm going to get grief from certain someones in my life. But, I also know that most, if not all, of the women who read this have experienced at one time or another in their lives what I'm about to share. So here we go.

I'd been feeling pretty good about my body since I started running last spring. I hadn't lost oodles of weight, but then, I wasn't really trying to do that. It would be nice, don't get me wrong, but I'm a big fan of food and I don't do well with deprivation. But, even though I try to focus on being healthy, strong and active, I confess I have bought into the culturally based definition of beauty: young and thin. Well, at 44, young is certainly out of the question....you just can't stop time. But thin.....

I know I will never, ever be thin like what I think thin looks like. It's just not in my genetic coding. I come from sturdy stock. Even after more than 30 years I'm still in the process of accepting that.

I remember in 4th or 5th grade noticing girls that were thinner than me and wishing to look like them, specifically the backs of their knees. Sounds weird, but the backs of their knees had absolutely no fat and you could clearly see the tendons connecting their thighs to their calves. For some reason I liked that better than what I had -- fatty backs of the knees. So I was maybe nine or ten? Where the heck did that idea come from??? It's not like the backs of 70s super models' knees were featured in Seventeen or Madamoiselle. Maybe I simply found that more to my liking. I don't remember looking at the backs of my knees in the mirrors of my childhood home, but somehow I knew I didn't have thin ones. And I wanted them.

I certainly look at myself in the mirror now. Yes, I'm naked. Amazingly, I manage to do that without paying too much attention to the silvery landscape of stretch marks (from birthing 4 babies), or the boobs that look like tube socks with tennis balls in the ends (from nursing 4 babies). I focus on my shoulders, arms, belly button (I kinda like it...it looks like an upside-down crescent moon -- also from birthing 4 babies). And I'll look at my legs. I've always liked my calves (thanks to Mom's side of the family), and more recently, my thighs because I thought they looked more muscle-y from running......at least from the sides.

You've probably heard somewhere that when you get cocky about something, the universe will find a way to knock you back down. After all, arrogance isn't pretty. Well, the universe was very helpful to me with mine last week.

I was getting dressed and the mini-muffins and I were dancing to one of my fav '70s songs: Give up the Funk by Parliament (AWESOME tune!) It was a good day, the sun was shining, no one was cranky (yet). And then I glanced over at the full length mirror and caught site of the backs of my thighs.

OH. MY. GOD. Where the hell did all that cellulite come from?!? Are those REALLY my legs? I don't have my glasses on and I can still see it so it must be pretty bad. And yes, those are really my legs. I didn't even get to the backs of the knees I was so disturbed by the thighs!

What went through my mind after that fateful moment was far from compassionate or self-accepting: "I can't believe you've gone out in shorts like that! This year you're only wearing shorts that hit at the knees. And forget about a swim suit! This is what happens when you eat the way you do. Got a little cocky, huh? Thinking you're impervious to weight gain just because you ruu-uun."



And of course, every article of clothing I put on after that was assessed for how it fit -- "This is tighter than usual. I'm a fat cow."

And every time I looked in the mirror, either clothed or unclothed, instead of seeing a healthy, strong woman, I saw a large, dimple-thighed woman. It's a shameful admission but I've been in a state of self-loathing ever since. And maybe I decided to write about it publicly so I could see just how hurtful I'm being to myself and stop it.

I know that if I like what I see in the mirror it's because it somehow matches the current definition of beauty. Or I've at least made peace with that part of myself (like not looking at my boobs or hips). But I don't think I'd like the look of cellulite even if Gisele and Kate Moss were covered in it from head to toe. I can see plump--really I can. There's a universal appeal to the curved shape (think faces, flowers, nice boobs and butts, etc.) And there were certainly periods in history when plump, voluminous women were preferred, like during the mid- to late 19th century.

But bumpy, rippley curves? I don't think so.

Ironically, I was listening to a mindfulness CD last night and Jon Kabat-Zinn said something like "You are large. You contain multitudes." He was, of course, talking about how each person has the capacity for being connected to the infinite, not about having large bodies. But it gave me a nice reframe for thinking about myself as large.