Think/act: Acceptance

I've been more active than I have been in quite a while, and I've been thinking a lot about body acceptance.

As a teenager, I was always self-conscious of my legs. I hated wearing shorts, because even at my skinniest, I had huge leg muscles. Even on the hottest summer days, I'd usually be in jeans. In college, there would be days where I felt so fat, and so unattractive, that I couldn't even get dressed and go to class. Paralyzed, I'd put pajamas back on, and get back in bed. 

I realize how ludicrous that sounds. I missed class because I felt "fat." And that was about 30 pounds ago.

Thirty pounds ago, I had disordered eating patterns. Thirty pounds ago, I couldn't even put on an outfit to leave the house.

After college, I realized that it was silly not to wear shorts, to be miserable because of something as superficial as clothing, or body shape. Especially when, by all accounts, I wasn't overweight. My legs were strong and healthy. There was nothing wrong with me. By then, I understood that bodies change. Mine had changed a lot. I had gained a good amount of weight -- I was probably at my heaviest when I first went back to graduate school. But I could get dressed, usually with minimal problems. I could wear shorts. I could leave the house. I wasn't crazy about how I looked. In fact, I was pretty unhappy with how much weight I gained. But I didn't linger on it.

Then, in graduate school, I started studying feminist theory, and thinking a lot about the ways women, in particular, are expected to look. The pressure that young girls feel to be thin, or pretty, or "perfect." The ways women pin their hopes and summer plans on fitting into the perfect pair of jeans, or bikini.

I thought of all the time and energy wasted on such a pointless thing. Imagine I had all the time back that I spent worrying about my clothes, my body. I could have been so much more productive. I could have experienced more life right then and there, instead of thinking I only deserved to live and be comfortable once I lost X pounds.

Think what would happen if every woman (and man) struggling with self-acceptance was able to trust that s/he was beautiful, and strong, and just fine. I read this blog post today, and it damn near broke my heart. A woman who has worked as hard as she has to get fit and strong has earned the right to wear running shorts, and look beautiful doing it. Shit, anyone should be able to. The idea that some people can wear some clothes, and others can't, is beyond upsetting to me. Who defines what beauty is?

Running has helped me with my own acceptance. Whereas before I'd wear shorts mostly out of necessity, I wear them now because I am proud of the muscles in my legs. A lot of hard work, sweat, and even tears have gone into those muscles. I've run in the rain. I've run in the snow. I've run during heat waves. I've run through shin splints, numbness, cracking joints, and other weird foot "things." I've run through heartbreak and depression. More than once, I've gotten up at 5:30 a.m. to run with a bunch of strangers.

Even so,  I'm not perfect. I still have days where I feel like nothing fits right, or where I wonder how I gained all this weight. But those days are farther and farther apart. I can go months without feeling bad about my body.

Last week's heat wave was my most recent test. I was determined to keep up with running, despite the heat. I usually run in shorts, a jogging bra, and a tank top, but even the tank top was too much last week. Before now, I have never run in just a jogging bra. I feel vulnerable, and I'm self-conscious about my stomach. But, dammit, it was hotter than hell, and I wanted to run. So I took off my tank top. After all, it was so hot that no one else was out anyway. And the few people I came across just expressed disbelief that I was crazy enough to be running in the first place. No one told me to put a shirt back on. No one made fun of me.

And you know what? After a minute or so, I was so distracted by the sun and heat, that I couldn't even think about what I might have looked like.

I feel like, of all the runs I've done since last May, I earned those six miles.

I only wish I could have felt like this sooner in life. And that everyone else could feel the same.