Skinny?

I was called skinny the other day. As someone who has always struggled with weight I wasn't sure whether to be happy or frustrated by a so-called compliment. I finally settled on frustrated. I have lost 20 pounds, but have worked my butt off by running and weight lifting. I have gained muscle mass. I would have rather been called fit, or strong. Weight has always been an issue for me, and I have been sensitive about my lack of, or abundance, for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger I participated in a gymnastics program. I worked on cartwheels, rolls, back bends and front walkovers. I wasn't built like a gymnast, but I had fun. Today in yoga class I remembered how flexible I was and how things have changed. Why did I ever stop, I muse. I know the reason, and today it seems pathetic, but it wasn't to my twelve-year-old self. Someone wondered how I could do gymnastics with my larger thighs. That was all it

took, I quit the next season and I spent the next years battling with body image, overeating and lack of exercise. Today I am 41; I run at least 5 miles a day, and with the recent addition of yoga, have begun to get my former flexibility back. It was just a few words, how could they be so powerful?

Words hurt and affect us in unimaginative ways. But in order for the words to hurt, we must allow them to. And if I am upset or elated by another's comment about my weight, it means that I am allowing another's opinion to become part of me; I become fat or skinny or scrawny or buxom. These are merely labels. When did our culture become so obsessed with the way a body appears? And why is it ok to comment about someone's body? When did the body become a commodity for consumption, the property of the public? Young women are forced to cover up in school, because it "distracts" the boys; mothers who breastfeed in public are shunned or shamed; advertisements with scantily clad women are plastered on park benches. We act as if, as a culture, we have a right to judge the bodies of others, whether the supermodel or the pregnant woman in the check out lane.

Did that person have a right to tell my 6th grade self that her thighs were too large to participate in gymnastics? Is it ok for people to comment on the weight I have lost or gained (I have had it both ways.) After all, both extremes take a lot of hard work. I don't know the answer, just for today I choose to wake up early and run, not because it will make me "skinny," but because I feel alive when I run, I am closer to God, and yes, it affords me the right to eat extra popcorn.  

Habits and Procedures

A wise man once said there is a group of habits and procedures he does regardless of the way he feels on a daily basis. For him, "I don't feel like it" was no excuse. This I am hoping to make a part of my life. So far I have been eliminating substances which aren't good for me...meat, cigarettes, alcohol, diet soda and recently, dairy. I have also been adding in things that bring order to my life: making my bed, doing the dishes every morning before work and flossing. All good steps, but I must remember they are steps, and I must add or eliminate gradually. I know for sure that I am setting myself up for failure if I try to incorporate many healthy activities into my life at the same time. I will soon become overwhelmed and conveniently forget what I am trying to achieve.  In the book Thrive, author Brendan Brazier suggests adding healthy habits gradually into one's life. He wrote that too much of a good thing creates stress on the body, just as toxins and bad habits stress out our fragile organisms. I have been heeding his advice. It has been almost ten months since I have adopted a vegan diet, the cheese was the last to go (I have been a vegetarian for at least ten years now). I am already feeling lighter and more energetic. Next up? I have to find a way to decrease clutter. Any suggestions of gradual life changing decluttering techniques would be appreciated. I have taken care of the body, it is now time to turn to the spirit. 

The Calm Sea is Full of Shoes

 

The day is crisp, a gentle breeze blows from the north, or south. The
house is quiet, for once my animal friends are snoozing. I am serene, my life is running smoothly, things are falling into place. Why do I want so bad to splash? Not just a little, oops sorry I got you splash. I want to create waves, I want to start a fight, to mix things up a bit. It is hard to sit in peace with oneself. I find that I am closest to my God when I can calm the chatter in my head and just sit in peace, in prayer and meditation. There is something scary about sitting in peace and quiet, alone with myself. What dragon will sneak up behind me and yell "boo" in my ear? I think that it is more than just waiting for the other shoe to drop (yes size 9-1/2, pumps please). Part of having an addictive personality is that I just love chaos. I love the drama, the adrenaline that shoots through my veins when I have 18 million projects to do and not enough time to do them. I love feeling excited when I have new projects, new shoes, and new adventures planned. My enemy is silence, is stillness, is treading water. Give me bigger, better, more, more, more until I collapse in a heap and what? Sit in silence maybe? For today I will write a paper, I will allow myself a few minutes of quiet with myself. I will refrain from entering a shoe store. I will keep my mouth shut and not start a fight. I will be a grown up. Now there, that wasn't so bad was it. Row, row, row the boat...

Juggling in a Sea of...

I will now embark on a journey of mixed metaphors and sharp right hand turns. Some writers keep journals, I happen to keep little slips of paper. Not the most organized way to keep all of one's thoughts in proper order, but they sit in a neat pile on my desk, waiting to be looked at, and ultimately brought to fruition. One such slip of paper fell out of my pocket today. A friend of mine said a few weeks ago (possibly more, possibly less), "If I put twelve balls into the air and four fall, then I am responsible for putting them up there to begin with." Ugh. I seem to have a little, minor, petite, tiny, minuscule problem with workaholism / doaholism/ whatever other ism derives from the fact that I just love to be busy, to be juggling, to have that adrenaline (or other bodily chemicals) shooting through my veins when I am in the groove, going going going... But, as my wise friend so aptly put, when I put all of those balls up there, and some fall, then I need to take responsibility, which is really a dirty word when you think about it. I am a full time commuting student, taking one more class than recommended with a teenager embarking on his own college path (read - we are visiting schools, filling out applications etc). I also realized that I should be taking the GREs and applying for grad school. So when the car payment comes due, the water in the well is contaminated and the thermostat doesn't work, (and yes I decided to become a single mom) balls ultimately fall. And they fall with a resounding crash, along with my positive attitude and energy level. I turn into a heap, a mess that needs to be scraped up off the floor. Not a pretty picture, and, forgetting the wise words of my wise friend, my default setting upon this floor is to lash out, to pick a fight or to create some other chaotic episode. This is where I was last week, and stayed until I remembered to ask the Universe for a little bit of help. Help came. Small miracles. I was sitting in the library when a stranger came up and congratulated me on my book. The gentleman who works at the turnpike informed me that I am well liked at that exit because I always have kind words and smiles for all. Small miracles, but grand enough to relieve me of the bondage of my funk. Today I have the opposite problem, the sea is completely calm...but that metaphor can wait for the next post.