How I Stopped Hating My Body
It took a big purple bruise to remind me that I actually love my body.
Since I’ve been working from home, I’ve really been getting in shape. And by that I mean I’ve been packing on pounds until I’m nearly the shape of my chair.
The extra weight didn’t sneak up on me. In my biology classes, I teach about the digestive system every year, so I well understand the effects of too many calories and too little activity. In the before time, I’d stomp around the classroom and wave my arms to get kids to pay attention to me. Sometimes I’d even break a sweat in my enthusiasm for a topic or an activity!
Not anymore. Now that I’m teaching remotely, I sit. For hours and hours at a time. I sit and type emails to students, I sit through zoom calls, I sit and read the work they submit to me. I stopped wearing my Fitbit because I got tired of feeling it buzz as a reminder to move while I was tethered to my desk in a never ending Zoom call.
As I sit, fidgeting in my seat, I look down at my body and feel disgust. The soft doughy rolls around my middle don’t feel like a fair prize for my willingness to learn a whole new job and show up every day for my students.
For most of my life, I’ve exercised regularly and maintained a healthy weight. Rationally, I know I could have found a way to work out over these last few months. The road to my bigger butt though, is paved with buts. I’d go to the gym right now but it’s closed. I’d go for a run right now but I can’t leave my kids home alone. I’d do yoga in my bedroom but I’d have to fold the mound of laundry on the floor first.
I stepped on the scale earlier this week to see a number larger than I’ve ever seen, except for when I was pregnant. I stared at the red digits and swallowed hard as if it was a chaser to all of the snacks and full fat yogurt I’d been indulging in over the last ten weeks.
That night, I took my clothes off in the bathroom and made myself stare at my reflection in the mirror. I wish I could tell you I scrawled body positive messages across the shiny surface and it made me feel better but that was not the case. I felt awful. I felt regret for letting myself slip so far. I felt angry because I didn’t choose to work from home while simultaneously caring for my own children because they couldn’t go to school either. And I felt stupid for knowing what was happening and doing nothing about it.
Since then, I have done a better job of getting outside and exercising. I’ve changed my diet and my mood is a little better. But I can’t lie, it’s still pretty tough.
Something happened to me today though, that kicked me out of this no-fun-body-hating-self-loathing funk I’ve been stuck in: I fell off my bike.
I was riding with two friends on a trail near my house. We were riding fast and feeling good. When we came to a spot where the trail crossed the road, we had to decide whether to go high, which meant riding up and over the road, or go low, which meant ducking our heads and riding through a dark, corrugated metal drainage pipe that was just barely big enough to fit through.
I’ve ridden through it many times before so I chose to go low. When you enter the pipe, it’s immediately pitch black. At the far end, you can see a perfect circle of light. The corrugated metal vibrates your whole bike frame and you have to just trust yourself to ride by feel until you make it to the other side. It takes just seconds to get through, but time seems to swell and shrink inside the tube, making it feel more epic than it is.
I was the last one to enter the tube today and I hit it at a breakneck pace. When I entered, I whooped and hollered just because I could and I let my feet do the work, as my body buzzed from the noise and vibrations.
Three seconds or three hours into the tube, I veered a little to the left. My tires slipped on the smooth metal. I overcorrected to the right and came crashing down on my shoulder, my back and my head. The steel was unforgiving and hard and the darkness was disorienting. I knew I had hurt myself, but I also knew I had to get out of the tube before another biker came along and smashed into me, unable to see me in the dark.
So guess what? I got up. I pedaled. I made it out of the tunnel. The bright sun was blinding and I felt a little dizzy as I pedaled to catch up with my friends. As the shock of my fall wore off, I started to assess the damage. My ankle, butt, hip and shoulder were all banged up and sore.
But I was still riding. And even though everything hurt, I felt fast and free. My legs turned over faster and faster and I raced back to the end of the trail only to get off my bike and realize how much everything hurt.
When I got home, I went to the bathroom and took a shower. I stared at the bruises and scrapes on my body. I did not see a body with ugly rolls of fatty flesh. I didn’t see a body that I hated. I saw the bluish purple marks and I felt happy.
I saw a body that falls down and gets back up. I saw a body that takes risks and can suffer the consequences. I saw a body that can bike and run and heal and change. I saw a body that took a digger in a tube and didn’t even pause for one second before jumping right back on the bike.
In that moment, my thoughts shifted. I don’t hate my body. I hate not using my body. I hate not pushing myself, not feeling blood pump through my legs when I tack on extra miles. I hate talking to people through Zoom where I’m tethered to a machine that doesn’t let me kneel down next to someone or walk away from a conversation to prove my point. I hate sitting still and letting the calories from my food settle in around my midsection instead of burning them off in a fury.
Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll still have to spend most of it at my desk. But when I start to feel bad and I start to feel bored, I can reach back and touch my big purple bruises. When they hurt, it will remind me I won’t always be a hunched over desk-dweller.
One day, I’ll be released from the digital ball-and-chain that is my classroom right now and I’ll be free to leave my desk. When that happens, I can’t wait to get out and use my body again. I can’t wait to remember that my body is more than just a holder for my brain and eyeballs.
I can’t wait to run, hike, paddle, swim, dance, and move. That’s what bodies are made for. Not for this almost motionless life of sitting, talking and typing.
Maybe I’ll lose some weight along the way. Maybe I’ll fall and crash a few more times. It won’t matter, as long as I’m on the move. When I’m on the move, I don’t have time to stop and think about how I look. I’m too busy feeling good to worry about looking good.
When will it happen? I can’t say.
But the end of the tunnel is in sight.
Do you love bicycles too? Read these.
