I am happy to announce, my guts did not explode out of my belly! On January 1st I ran for the first time since July, which was also the first time I'd run since birthing Little Squish. It was a 5k on a freezing day along the banks of Lake Washington with three cousins and my sister.
My plan was to mostly walk, but much to my surprise, I managed to mostly run. I did so alone, because everyone is faster than me, and I'm okay with that.
There have been 5ks where I feel panicked, winded, alone, and lame. They seem as long as marathons. I notice every footfall, frantically search for every kilometer marker, and wonder at how such a short race can defy the laws of time and space. During those races I'm at leisure to contemplate my fat, each jiggle cause for mental self-flagellation. Each prancing LuluLemonhead fuels envy, as I tug at the Target discount rack leggings stretched indecently over my thighs. I feel self-conscious instead of proud when I finally cross the finish line.
This was not one of those races. Not much about me is different. I'm overweight, far from my running prime, a 5 kilometer race is still 5 kilometers long, and I'm still dressed by Target.
Besides working toward running again, I've been practicing factualizing myself. Instead of wrapping my weight in shame topped with moral failure, I tell myself my weight is a fact. I weigh 237 pounds. That's a fact. It's not easy to scrape off the emotion, guilt, and societal meaning so thickly applied to weight, but the more I practice, the easier it becomes. As a cold, hard fact, my weight feels clean and light. It takes up less emotional energy. My heart and brain feel tidier. And if tomorrow I weigh 239 pounds, that too is a fact, not evidence of failure, cause for obsessive brooding, or a sin that requires penance.
So, light and factual, I set myself tiny running goals during the race. I'm going to run to there! Okay, now I'll walk. I'm going to run to there! Ooh, I was going to walk, but I think I'll keep going and run to there instead! I did think about my weight. I thought, wow! Look at what 237 pounds can do! And damn, I'm wearing these Target leggings like a boss. And then I just internally roared like a ferocious lion.
My plan was to mostly walk, but much to my surprise, I managed to mostly run. I did so alone, because everyone is faster than me, and I'm okay with that.
There have been 5ks where I feel panicked, winded, alone, and lame. They seem as long as marathons. I notice every footfall, frantically search for every kilometer marker, and wonder at how such a short race can defy the laws of time and space. During those races I'm at leisure to contemplate my fat, each jiggle cause for mental self-flagellation. Each prancing LuluLemonhead fuels envy, as I tug at the Target discount rack leggings stretched indecently over my thighs. I feel self-conscious instead of proud when I finally cross the finish line.
This was not one of those races. Not much about me is different. I'm overweight, far from my running prime, a 5 kilometer race is still 5 kilometers long, and I'm still dressed by Target.
Besides working toward running again, I've been practicing factualizing myself. Instead of wrapping my weight in shame topped with moral failure, I tell myself my weight is a fact. I weigh 237 pounds. That's a fact. It's not easy to scrape off the emotion, guilt, and societal meaning so thickly applied to weight, but the more I practice, the easier it becomes. As a cold, hard fact, my weight feels clean and light. It takes up less emotional energy. My heart and brain feel tidier. And if tomorrow I weigh 239 pounds, that too is a fact, not evidence of failure, cause for obsessive brooding, or a sin that requires penance.
So, light and factual, I set myself tiny running goals during the race. I'm going to run to there! Okay, now I'll walk. I'm going to run to there! Ooh, I was going to walk, but I think I'll keep going and run to there instead! I did think about my weight. I thought, wow! Look at what 237 pounds can do! And damn, I'm wearing these Target leggings like a boss. And then I just internally roared like a ferocious lion.
Take it easy with those guts! And hi :)
ReplyDeleteLove this! I want to start running, but tenderly caring for a precarious knee. I'm 223 so right there with you. My bladder will eventually be up for the task.
ReplyDelete-Annette
aka 'Dressed by Target'