Talking about weight and body image always brings out interesting comments. I thought about it a lot today, and here's how I'd describe where I'm coming from:
When an attractive, in-shape man looks me over, even if he's flirting with me and I'm enjoying the attention, my mind is seeing what he's seeing, because I am a coldly analytical bitch (ask anybody) and I am disappointed in myself. Not angry, depressed, suicidal, unable to flirt back because I am so distracted, just disappointed. It's like my body has received a report card, and I am its parent, sighing over its grades. And the comment from the teacher: "Capable of much better." This ass used to be at least a B+, maybe an A at its peak, now it's a C-. The thighs used to be solid B thighs, now, D+. And my abs dropped out and now sit around all day. And the back fat is unspeakable, so we shall not speak of it.
I don't hate my body - it's my comfort with who I am that let me get out of shape! If I had "body issues" I'd be way more upset and freaked out, and would be obsessed about it and frantic about it. As it is, I just sigh, disappointed. My body is like a slacker student - it's capable of much more, and I've been letting it get away with letting go. I like being respected for my mind, but then I looked around and realized, shit, that's the only thing left!
I don't think this is entirely a women's issue, either. I have the opportunity to hang out and lurk in a testosterone-rich environment, and trust me, they are as fretful about getting older and I think even more obsessed with working out than we are. Yeah, there are those guys who put a Speedo on a beerbelly, like a rubber band on a watermelon, and strut the beach like they think they're Brad Pitt, but they are the equivalent of the extremely out of shape 50 year old woman in the bikini - pitiable, and not the way most of us want to be seen. Everybody I work with works out regularly.
And I'm sure at least part of it is where I live and work. There is a peer pressure to look good. I am fine with being 47, but I'm far less fine with becoming one of the Invisible Older Women, the dumpy mother figure, the plump lady in the Barbara Bush jacket dress. It is not my style, it does not reflect who I am, and I simply won't let it be how I look. It's that simple. My ass needs to get back on the elliptical trainer, and the only way to make sure it happens daily is to put the damn thing in my house, so I can fit it into any day, no matter how disorganized I am. Because, dammit, I remember looking much better. I remember being really happy with how I looked, and enjoying shopping because I didn't have to camouflage anything. I have no problem with admitting vanity.
I don't believe in obsessing over every bite of food and I don't believe dieting is the answer. I couldn't cut it with Weight Watchers because all that counting made me feel too food obsessed. I just want to eat reasonable portions of healthy food, eat a little unhealthy barbecue and pizza now and then, exercise daily and let my ass take care of itself. I am confident that it will. I truly don't care what the scale says if everything is firm and toned, I'm happy. The missing ingredient is the exercise, and that is going to be much easier come Wednesday. I just can't do the gym, no matter how I try, not and do the laundry and the shopping and the pond maintenance and feed the animals and take care of the house and field phone calls and spend 50+ waking hours each week at work. Oh, and maybe knit and write and study for my RE license and have a social life. Multi-tasking is the key - launder and let the dogs out and exercise all at the same time, not sequentially. It's how I had a size 6 ass, a demanding full-time job and two kids Back in the Day. Why did I ever think I could do it any other way?
You think when your kids grow up you will be suddenly blessed with all this Leisure to live at the gym and take classes and get your nails done - yet somehow, it doesn't really work out that way. The tricks that got me through those days are still relevant now.
It's light when I get home now (another reason I feel the urge to exercise like a fiend) but still too dark for a good picture of the latest Clapotis. It's coming along so nicely, it's not Lion and Lamb (I'm obsessed with that stuff) but it's damn nice. Next up in the batting order -
This, in Salmon.
But the thing is that some of the guys need to really become familiar with a mirror. I am comfortable with my body but I hear comments from the older guys. And these are the guys who have the 12 month pregnant stomach. The younger guys seem to appreciate us better.
ReplyDeleteI actually heard one of the younger guys at my station saying that he wished his wife would gain a little bit of weight back. She joined the gym and lost quite a bit of weight.
Very good summary!
ReplyDeleteI try to keep the "I-hate-how-I-look" inner dialogue to a minimum. It's depressing and unproductive, but it wells to the surface now and again.
As you say, I hate the obsessiveness of calorie counting and I just refuse. Life's too short, and food is good. On the other hand, I'd much rather have a few bites of what I enjoy than a whole bowl of something I don't care for. Hence I do not do "diet" food. Good food is good food and it can be healthy. Gah, I was exposed to too much diet food during the 1970s with my Mom and her incessant dieting (none of which did any good).
I want to bring myself back to moderately fit. Anything more requires more of a time commitment than I'm willing to give right now.
Oh, and DEFINITELY the salmon. The only other colour I like is the periwinkle. The rest are too dull for my taste.
ReplyDeleteThe idiot potty man I used to work with kept the thermostat at 60, and if I dared crank it up to a smoldering hot 65, he would walk into my office "mopping his face" with a paper towel, give me the woe-is-me complaint and then leave the disgusting paper towel on my desk or computer or something....
ReplyDeleteAh, I miss those days.
Wait.
No, I don't.