I sometimes write for LiveWell Colorado, an anti-obesity and public health campaign in this state. Generally, I don't cross post my writing since my work for LiveWell is pretty specific in nature... But I like this post, and I think many of the women I know can relate.
My body and I have a long
history. It’s a story of loyalty and betrayal, of adventures and near-misses,
of love and, yes, loathing.
We’ve been together for 34 years
and, during that time, my body has let me down more than once. It embarrassed me
at age four when, in the middle of a ballet recital, its awkwardness was cause
for my instructor to tell my mother that I was “hopelessly lacking in grace.”
In junior high, it was too boxy and boyish. It was unsympathetic to the curves
of the other girls, and I had to hide it under baggy sweatshirts and loose-fitting
tops. Somewhere around my teens, it decided it wanted curly hair. I resisted
that with flatirons and hairdryers, and scores of thick, waxy products.
Ultimately, it won that battle, and I was left to embrace those little brown
ringlets. In my 20s, my body committed the ultimate act of betrayal, and my
pancreas stopped producing insulin. My body and I will spend the rest of our
time together with Type I Diabetes. 
Of course, that same body also
managed some amazing feats. During a particularly unfortunate phase in the late
80s, it endured hours of step aerobics in hideously shameful leotards. In my
teen years, it eventually managed a pretty quick 500 freestyle in the pool. It stretched
and adapted to carry two beautiful children. It nourished them throughout my
pregnancies and after, as it made milk to feed them. My body was a devoted
friend during three marathons, when she wanted desperately to call it quits, to
slow to a crawl, and yet I forced her on to the finish. She has endured
countless hours of training and racing. She’s crashed, bled, had a couple sets
of stitches and one fractured arm, and never given up entirely.
Our bodies are glorious friends.
We subject them to all manner of abuse: Starve them or force them to binge
beyond reason, deprive them and belittle them, degrade them and hide them. Some
women shame them, hate them, harm them. Still, throughout it all, they chase
our dreams and grow old with us, keep the scars and lines that tell our stories
and serve as our vessel as we enter the world.
In a culture where women’s bodies
are so often misrepresented, it’s important to preserve the friendship between
mind and body. I’m not sure when, exactly, women decide to turn against their
skin and muscle and bone, and indulge chronic, negative self-talk. I do know that it is both exhausting and,
well, boring. All those mechanical reactions of disdain and disgust seem rather
silly when paired with the ability of the body to accomplish amazing things.
The key, perhaps, in learning to
tell our respective bodies how much we love them is found in using them well.
Studies show that body dissatisfaction decreases significantly with exercise[1].
When you see what your body can do, when you allow it to feel good, you can’t
help but allow your mind to follow along. You become more forgiving, and less
tied to that cultural ideal of a “beautiful woman.” Two years ago, I weighed a
lovely 122lbs., but my cycling suffered horribly for my slight physicality.
Today, I race at just under 143lbs. I am faster, stronger and more muscular. In
America, that thinner frame might be regarded as the prettier body, but I take
great pride in my thick quads and calves, and the power they produce on a bike.
My body is doing its job.
Today, I stand before myself in
the mirror and see my boyish hips that carried my son and my daughter, my
absurdly long arms that cradle the cat, my broad shoulders that can haul my
bike over fences and stairs, my heavy legs which run faster than I ever
imagined as a child. I love my body, and she has shown me time and again that
she loves me in return. I tend to my body with the same love and care that I
tend to the bodies of my two children as I kiss their bruises and bandage
scraped knees. I remember that they watch my body and me as we go out into the
world, and they hear how I talk to her when I see her reflection. I am filled
with an authentic sense of gratitude at the ride we get to take together, as we
find new adventures and accomplish our dreams.
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