FAT Girl

After a lovely afternoon visiting with my friend Miz Minka, I sat down to catch up on Jezebel, and was promptly drawn to a blurb posted about an obese woman who was publicly asked to get off a piece of equipment because of fears she would break it.

The blurb itself doesn't tell much, and I haven't read the article yet. What captured my interest was the comments section.

Obviously, I have a lot of interest in the topic of fat-shaming, and even my share of things to say.

I was fortunate in that I didn't get a lot of fat-shaming directed at me--at least not that I noticed. I think more often than not, I was overlooked, really, relegated to the corner because I was obese...but no one ever said anything overtly disgusting or cruel to my face. I was once told, "You're the fat duck!" by a kindergartner in music class, but to a five-year-old, calling someone "fat" is not insulting them, merely pointing out the obvious. I didn't take it personally.

My reasons for losing weight are many--of course I want to "look hot" and "feel confident in my body." For me to feel confident, weight had to come off. I have friends who are happy and comfortable in themselves while carrying extra weight, and for that, more power to them. But of course, health was an issue, too--I went on medication for high blood pressure when I was 27, and had major issues with anxiety and depression--which have eased greatly since losing weight. Remember, I've had a pretty stressful school year and while I certainly had to deal with some stress, I managed a hell of a lot better than I've managed less stressful situations in the past. I credit regular workouts and a healthy overall diet with keeping me balanced. Also, I never ever want to experience sciatica again--and if weight loss will help prevent that, well, sign me up.

Plus, it's nice, on my teacher's salary, to be able to buy clothes at Target (the women's section at my Target sucks!) and not have to spend way more money at Lane Bryant and Macy's just to find stuff that is somewhat stylish and age-appropriate.

But I digress. In the comments section, I ran across comment after comment from women who are too ashamed or intimidated to go to the gym because they fear this kind of treatment, or people laughing at them.

Some excerpts:

Some gyms do have an attitude of "no fatties please," which is disheartening considering the ranting a lot of non-fat people do about big people and exercise.

On being self-conscious:

When I go to the gym, I sometimes feel self-conscious about being fat, but I just try to focus on what I'm doing rather than feel like an ugly whale among thin beautiful dolphins.

On women-vs.-men:

I'm a hefty woman, and I've been given downright dismissing or contemptuous looks by other (usually young) women at the gym. Men don't care if you're a whale among dolphins, though - they care that you just finished a grueling hour of cardio on the elliptical at the highest level. They care that you can leg press 200 pounds.

On sweating and red faces:

I've recently taken up jogging and biking. I'm overweight and out of shape, so I sweat like a beast and turn beet red when I get going. I know people are looking at me, but I try really hard not to care. It's hard, but dammit, I keep going. But I think I heard a kid ask 'why is that lady so red?' but I'm trying to laugh it off!

Another self-conscious lady:

so sad :(. I didn't go to the gym for so long because I thought I was too fat to work out. And now after losing 80 lbs - the 10lbs i just gained back i still feel too fat to hire a personal trainer to teach me to lift weights. I feel your pain girl. I feel your pain.

And the worst experience of all:

Exercising outdoors can actually be more of a health hazard than just being obese would be. I know that (before I stopped going outside alone) walking or biking along the side of the road was viewed as an open invitation to hurl insults or garbage out of car windows at me. The cigarettes were my favorites, once in a while they were even put out first.

The worst was the time I was actually injured by a piece of garbage, and at the hospital waiting for a ride after getting stitched up, the nurse told me 'if you would just eat better and exercise a little, instead of insisting on staying morbidly obese, this wouldn't have happened'. Then she handed me a weight watchers pamphlet and another one on bariatric surgery.

So while it may have been an equipment limitation issue, I can just as easily believe it is just more fat hate... especially as I can see a fitness center not wanting it's other clients and prospective clients to think they would be seeing disgusting fat people all the time. Bad for business you know.

Reading and responding to these comments got me thinking--really thinking, about just how much I've accomplished since February 2009. It's easy to minimize everything I've done to just "losing sixty pounds" and "dropping from size 18 to size 10." But what I have done and learned is so much more than a number on a scale, or even less important, a number on a clothing tag.

I've learned that I like getting sweaty.

I used to HATE feeling sweaty. Most miserable thing on earth. Walking around on a hot day, with sweat in my hair and underarms, under my breasts, in every other crack and crevice, was awful. I couldn't tolerate it. That's changed. On a daily basis, I work up rivers of sweat.

I used to be embarrassed by my sweaty armpits, and think, "What must B. the Sadist/C. the Sweetie/G. the Meanie think? Eww!!" Then one day, I had an epiphany: "Duh, they don't even notice! They sweat, too. They want me to sweat, because it means I'm working hard."

Of course, I still carry a towel, because there's nothing worse than sweat dripping in the eyes, and I like to dry my hands before going in that push-up position, or dry off a piece of equipment I've just sweat all over (common courtesy, and I really wish that sweaty dude on the treadmill had been as courteous a few days ago--that was nasty!). But I'm not ashamed of the rivers of sweat coursing down my face and neck anymore. I'm proud of them.

And I know I'm not imagining the appreciative look I received just today from a very fit, very hot man who I passed on my way to the locker room after a very sweaty workout.

Forget about the camera...I add 10 pounds to myself.

My gym, like many others, has a lot of mirrors. Mirrors all over the aerobics room, mirrors in the weight areas. This is good for watching form, but bad for a girl who still sort of thinks of herself as a fat girl, even though she's really not a fat girl anymore. I look in the mirror to check my form and I see huge thighs, an enormous spare tire on the midsection, and ewwww...all that flab on my arms! I mentioned my "stocky legs" and how they haven't lost much size every time G. measures them to Mom last week. She replied, "Meg, your thighs really aren't that big, hon."

So I took another look, and she's right. I've gone through the tough part of asking for help, becoming a runner, and changing how I look at food (not a crutch, but a form of nourishment!) and exercise (not horrible, but rewarding and even fun!). I've put in endless hours of running, stair-climbing, lap-swimming, cross-training, weight-lifting and resistance training. Now my biggest fight, if you will, is finally seeing that all along, I've been a beautiful girl. I was a beautiful big girl, and I'm a beautiful girl now. I'll be beautiful at goal weight.

I think that, right there, is the hardest lesson to learn.

Strong is SEXY

As I mentioned above, my legs have not lost a lot of size. Every time G. the Meanie takes my measurements, my chest, waist and hips--even my neck--have lost size. Since February, I've lost something like five or six inches from both my waist and hips (two jeans sizes). My thighs and calves, however, have remained stubbornly stocky (in my mind). They've gotten smaller, but barely. A quarter inch here, a quarter inch there.

Last time we measured, I groaned out loud when G. showed me the leg measurements. He remained enthusiastic. "You know what I think?" he said. I didn't, and knew he'd tell me anyway. "Your legs aren't getting smaller because you have built so much muscle, even as you're losing the fat. Your legs are so strong now."

A week or two later, we did a particularly grueling lower-body workout. At the end, G. told me I'd done a great job. "See? Your legs are super-strong now."

And I'm starting to see that he's right. My legs run, climb stairs, squat, and do a lot of intense, advanced exercises. They don't give out, they don't fail me. I'm not ashamed to parade around the gym in leggings. Yes, I have fatty spots up near my derriere...and my legs will probably never be described as gazelle-like, but I do sport a strong, butt-kicking pair of gams that look sexy as hell in my new Steve Madden shoes.

Working out is not a death sentence.

G. the Meanie got "the Meanie" tacked onto his initial (kept anonymous because I've never actually asked his permission to identify him in the LPB, even though he 1) knows I blog and 2) has read some of my blog entries that I've printed out to share with him. In fact, feel free to say "hello" to him in the comments, because I'll probably share this entry with him) because in the beginning, he had absolutely zero sympathy for me when an exercise was difficult. "Don't stop. Keep moving. Don't quit. Are you quitting?"..."FOR GOD'S SAKE, I'M NOT QUITTING!"

If he thought an exercise was getting easy for me, he'd add weight, or make me do it while standing on my head (okay, not really, but close). If I complained he'd just scoff and say something like, "Well, otherwise this is too easy for you." I can't tell you how many times I've half-shouted, "None of this is easy!!"

At this week's session, he led me through a cycle of exercises that have, over time, become easier. He commented as we left the aerobics room, "This isn't so bad for you anymore, is it?"

"It's definitely easier than it used to be. I mean, don't think I'm not working hard--it's still a good workout. I just don't feel like I'm walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death anymore when I do them." This got a belly laugh.

And its true. I honestly can't call any of the exercises I do "easy." They're supposed to hurt a little--my muscles are supposed to feel the burn, etc. The big difference these days is that I walk away from an exercise feeling invigorated, not beat-up.

Everyone is more than what they appear to be on the surface.

Just as I never liked being judged by my weight...I shouldn't judge those around me. So G., I'm sorry about the meat head comment. You're not a meat head (though you are a pain in the ass sometimes). And I really couldn't have done any of this without you.

For the rest of you, scratching your heads and wondering what this is about, last week G. mentioned a charcoal drawing he'd completed for a friend. "You draw?" I asked. "Who knew?"

Followed by, "I dunno, I thought you were just...a meat head." (What was actually running through my mind was, "I didn't know you had any other interests besides working out, torturing your clients, and watching TV.")

"A meat head?!"

At the end of that particular appointment, my vain and cocky (his words, not mine) trainer said, "Do you really think I'm a meat head?"

"No! I was teasing you! I was just surprised to find out you're artistic, that's all." This comment came back to haunt me on Wednesday, and I had to defend myself by explaining that I was simply surprised to find out he's good at drawing, after all the stories he's told me about running with a catch can, "over your head, with one arm tied behind your back and one leg tied to the leg of the guy next to you...or whatever it is you guys did for fun in the Air Force."

See, G. gets a bad rap here at the LPB for all of the craziness I've gone through working with him, and some of the comments he's made ("I think I might throw up, G." "Good!")...but the truth is, I give him a lot of hell, too.

And finally:

"Nothing tastes as good as thin feels" is utter bullshit.

I'm sorry, but chocolate cake tastes marvelous whether I'm 220 pounds or 161 pounds. And I'm not going to give up chocolate cake forever and ever--I'm just going to eat it a lot less often, and really, really appreciate it when I do have it.

Last week, I had the first red meat I've had since December. I've given up on red meat for cholesterol reasons, but I didn't want to miss out on barbecued sirloin a la Mom. So I kept it small and enjoyed every delicious bite, as well as every delicious bite of the mushrooms and broccoli that accompanied it.

I can't stop living my life. I've limited how often I eat out and made it more of a special occasion thing, instead of a regular thing. I look up menu items for popular restaurants and plan what I'll eat before I go. I've made adjustments to keep my life healthier, and it works for me.

You know what's better than feeling thin? Feeling strong. Feeling capable. Lifting a little more weight the next time I do an exercise because my body is that much stronger. Knowing that even though I'm still 30-40 pounds over my "ideal" or "goal" weight, I'm still in better shape than many skinny people who work out at my gym simply because I'm there every day, working my body. Peeling off sweaty gym clothes and stepping into the shower? That feels good. Gracefully leaping from one stepping stone to the next between my building and the one next to it as I walk to the gym, without losing my balance--that feels awesome. Being able to grip handfuls of extra denim around my derriere because my jeans are getting too loose--amazing.

Besides, I'll never be "thin" by society's standards. As my body whittles its way down, I am finding I am less

Boobs

Waist

Hips

and more

Boobs

Waist

Hips/Booty

The classic hourglass. I'm more than okay with this. 

Back to the topic I started with--it makes me so sad that so many women feel ashamed to even step into a gym, or ask a trainer for help. It makes me ashamed for our society that anyone has ever had trash thrown at her as she made an attempt to get healthy by working out. I'm so very lucky that my experiences have been as positive as they have been. It has never been easy, but I have had nothing but support and encouragement from the people at my gym--from G. the Meanie doing whatever it takes to encourage me along (have I ever once quit on you, dude?) to the manager high-fiving me and offering support. The ladies at the front counter who greet me by name when I walk in the door, and the guy I've pounded on the treadmill with who once chuckled at my sigh/gasp of relief when I finally finished my workout, and who has offered encouragement ever since. Ann, the fiercely fit 40-something who inspires me and always has a friendly word. Mom and Dad, who've supported this operation from day one. Random people who have noticed my success and commented about it with a "Look at you! You're awesome!"

I wish everyone could have that experience.