A product of the times and culture, I’ve waged war with my body since it changed from a lithe, strong, fast child’s body to a lavish, full, female frame.
I’m a product of the Go-Go 80s. Greed is good. Big hair and bigger shoulder pads. Materialism and consumerism started in earnest and video killed the radio star. You could see, on regular rotation, the bodies, make-up, clothes, and accessories of your favorite music stars, and compare yourself accordingly. I never measured up.
I subscribed to Shape and Seventeen magazines as a pre-teen. I didn’t actually work out in high school – that was for the athletic girls, which I was decidedly not. Shape was rife with trim young women; the hottest stars of the times adorned the cover. Connie Sellica, Loni Anderson, I poured over the magazines, not wanting or even able to perform any of the workouts, learning along the way that there was one type of body that was the correct type of body and I did not have it, so why bother? How did they even get their bodies to look like that?
I still punished myself for not having It, for failing to achieve It, and for not trying hard enough to get It.
I did find an exercise that I loved – Jazzercise. Very of the time, I know. This was the mid-80s and shiny, lycra leotards were the height of fitness fashion. I didn’t have them to wear, but I loved dancing to current music. Jazzercise was and is, an aerobic dance workout also designed to tone muscles. I loved dancing with a large group of people, the music was loud, and everyone was of a similar mind. It was so fun!
I didn’t think exercise could be like that.
I started to look for other exercises that were fun.
As time went on, I realized that each exercise was fun in its own way. Or, if not fun, activated a different part of my brain and body.
I joined the Y and tried everything they had to offer. Yoga classes because Madonna had recently taken up yoga and I wanted her body. Step Aerobics and kickboxing, which I found to be no fun. Stationary bicycles and stair climbers were boring. Nautilis machines were interesting but intimidating. I liked walking on the treadmill.
But I had no plan. I hoped that just by using these devices or by moving my body I would get the correct body. That was my vague, undefined goal.
For 30 years, off and on, I did just that. Trying new things, like Beachbody and marathon running, going back to my tried and true, Jazzercise, weight-lifting, and walking. I still always wanted the correct body and would work hard, but if Life so much as lifted its head, I would drop exercise first in order to regain hold of the reins.
Let me repeat: I still always wanted the correct body.
I was mad at my body for a lot of reasons. It didn’t look right and it didn’t act right.
I couldn’t seem to increase my muscles or slim down. I still had saddlebags no matter how much I ran or did Pilates.
I needed IVF to get pregnant. Then I needed a C-Section to deliver our twins.
What was wrong with me?
Then my body cancered. Chemotherapy did a real number on me, landing me in the emergency room several times for blood transfusions. I was so weak I couldn’t even walk around the block. I lost 13 pounds and all my muscles.
Yeesh.
And I’m not here to tell you that now everything is terrific. That I was healed both physically and spiritually coming through the experience of having cancer and that my relationship with my body is All Better Now!
It is and it isn’t.
Most days I’m neither body positive nor body negative, I’m body neutral.
Some days, if a photo memory comes up and I see myself from two and a half years ago, when I was still in active treatment and I look like a boiled, peeled potato, I’m very very grateful for my body. I appreciate how far I’ve come – all the ways I’ve come through. The IVF and the C-section, the sprained ankles and the broken toes, the jammed fingers and the bum knee – I marvel at my body and give myself a bath, slather myself with lotion, and coo. Way to Go, Lucila! Way to Go, Hands and Feet and Knees and Eardrums and Lungs.
On other days I’m agitated at the spare tire and the saddlebags. Now my skin is starting to sag. Time is evidenced on the landscape of my frame. I pray this isn’t as good as it is going to get. My knee hurts and I hope I still have my best days ahead. I hope that my best days aren’t behind me and that I didn’t even notice because I was busy envying Madonna’s body or Gwyneth Paltrow’s or Jennifer Lopez’s.
This envy is so unhelpful because I don’t even have the same body proportions as any of those women. It’s like trying to compare my body to Picasso’s.
I know this intellectually yet…
yet…
yet…
I still do it.
When I catch myself doing it (like right now as I’m reading this and Googleing “Who has the best female body” for “research”), I recognize and acknowledge that it is related to my lack of confidence in other areas.
Comparing my body is related to a lack of faith in myself. I want to believe that they of the perfect body – Bella Hadid or Hailey Beiber or any of them! (Who cares? All of them!) Must also have a perfect or correct life.
That’s what it boils down to. The want of something other than what I have because I think it is better.
So exercise. Who cares?
Well, exercise helps me be in my body, in the present moment. I need to make sure I get that lunge just right or I’ll fall over. If I don’t mind my lower back during a leg extension I could injure myself. If I walk too much or don’t pay attention to my body’s signals, my right knee swells, and then I have to take a break.
I have to be right here right now, sensing, tuning in, attending. It’s a moving meditation, an exercise in mindfulness.
Exercise is both physical and spiritual. We move our bodies even in the womb. Exercise helps move energy out of the body and creates new energy. The lungs fill with fresh oxygen. Blood circulates bringing nutrients and removing waste. The brain is engaged. Willpower and responsibility are strengthened. Confidence rises.
It’s actually a pretty cool thing to be able to do; no comparison.
So find something you can tolerate and start. And if you already have something you love, share it in the comments below. Maybe I’ll add it to my spiritual practice.