I Don’t Love Me.

Let’s start by saying I was raised in an overly modest environment.
this isn’t personal, mom, it’s just true.

And then I had the awesome (and by awesome, I mean crap) luck to develop boobs at age 10.

Crap luck.

No cleavage, ever. No legs. My school made girls wear skirts until December 1, and we had to start again March 1. Apparently God didn’t care if we wore pants in Michigan in the winter, but himself forbid if we wore them when it was vaguely above 20 degrees. And the skirts had to be knee length. I have short legs, so this wasn’t a problem. #smallblessings

And looking back, I had an unbelievable body. I had a glorious hourglass shape. I was made to wear formal dresses.

But my whole life, I was told to cover it. It was my fault if a male was attracted to me because I tempted him.

Let me repeat that- it was my fault because I tempted him. All the males, ever. Every him.

Before you get pissed, this isn’t a feminist rant about slut shaming or anything else. Keep reading, foo.

When I went to college, I ate crap food and drank beer. This will not surprise any of you who have been to college, because that’s what you do. But the ‘freshman 15’ was actually the freshman 30. Still looked pretty good. And the sophomore 15. Looked slightly less good. And the junior 10. Didn’t look good at all. And then I stayed stable, because I was fucking broke and I’m pretty sure my body had enough.

And suddenly, I wasn’t tempting him any more. Any him. Ever. I had covered up my body with the most indelible suit- the fat suit.

AND IT WAS WONDERFUL. IT WAS LIBERATING. IT WAS AMAZING. If a dude looked at me with lust in his heart, there must have been something wrong with him. It was actually my personality. And it worked. I had boyfriends. I got engaged. I got married. And I was a big girl. And it was great. I ate what I wanted. I didn’t diet, because diets are stupid.

I had to shop at Lane Bryant. This was prior to the current movement where you can get some bigger clothes that look like they belong to someone less than 50 years old. The clothes were not at all cool. In the back of my mind, I wanted to be “regular sized.” But evidently not enough to work at it. Sometimes I would walk. But nah.

I had a baby. Then I had another one. At the same time, I got really good at my job, which takes some hours of commitment, and no time to exercise. Or that’s what I told myself.

And then I weighed 100 pounds more than I did in high school.

I decided I would lose weight. I didn’t tell anyone except my husband. Because I was pretty sure I would fail, and if I failed, everyone would know. I joined Weight Watchers on January 1, 2010. On February 1, one of the teachers at my school said, “Are you losing weight?”

My response, “Maybe a little.” (it was 12 pounds at that point)

I was obsessive. I measured everything. I didn’t touch anything that wasn’t on plan.

I started doing the game “Dance, Dance Revolution” every night for 15 minutes. It was like aerobics, but fun. I got sweaty. I started just marching up and down on an aerobic step. It was the most athletic thing I had done in years.

I turned 35 in March and I was 23 pounds lighter. I was almost less than 200 pounds. A number I had not seen since 2002. My clothes started getting too big. Another teacher told me I needed new pants. I kept going. Weight Watchers helped me reach 50 lbs. lighter by the end of May. I was so hungry. I started running a little. Not much. I wasn’t eating nearly enough to run.

We moved to Virginia. I made a plan to make friends. It turned out that joining the local roller derby team was part of that plan.

I was reminded that sometimes I liked to move my body. I liked team sports. I liked the feeling of accomplishment. And although my weight stayed stable, I busted ass and got stronger. Because you really can’t eat 1200 calories a day and then go to practice and burn about 900 of those calories. Your body will decide that is not happening and you will not perform.

After a few years of derby, though, I was reminded that although I like team sports, I’m also super independent, and I left derby and started lifting weights. Lifting weights is amazing. Want to feel like you can do anything? Do some deadlifts. (watch your form, don’t get hurt.) And then keep doing them so you get better, and you’ll see what’s up. Suddenly, you feel like you can crush the world.

Aside: if you want to get into lifting weights, pick up the book New Rules of Lifting for Women – it’s an awesome starter program.

After a couple of years, I was moving from program to program, because after I finished New Rules, I hadn’t found anything that really moved me. Moved me. See what I did there?

Enter baseball season for the little one, and I met the mom of a kid on the team- she does CrossFit. A mutual friend told her I used to do derby. She told me about CrossFit. I told her I was worried about getting hurt. She reassured me. I told her it was too expensive. She acknowledged that. I gave her excuses. She ignored them.

Baseball season ended. I complained on Facebook how the tiny gym in my apartment complex was not great. She took the opportunity to invite me to a class. So I went. And then I went again. And then I joined. CrossFit Harrisonburg has the greatest group of coaches who truly care about your fitness- they care about your form, your health, and your progress. Because, as one told me, “if you get hurt, you can’t come back, and I want you to keep coming back.”

Here’s the thing I realized about CrossFit- if you’re not elite, and the vast majority of people are not, then you’re only competing with yourself. It’s you vs. you every day of the week. Did you go? You just won. Did you work as hard as you could? You won again. Did you do better than you did last week? You’re still winning. Did you do worse? Ok, fine, try again.

CrossFit has changed my life. Please note: I said the same thing about derby. I might have said it about running, but I doubt it because running sucks.

I mean.

I couldn’t have gotten to CrossFit without derby. I couldn’t have gotten to derby without a tiny bit of running. That’s my journey. You probably have different plans, and that’s cool. Everyone’s journey is different.

CrossFit has brought me to a new place in my life. I am- at the same time- stronger and weaker than I think.

• I am strong- I go to class even when I know that I’ll be the last to finish. I have run some of the fastest times of my life in CF. I am always the last runner in.
• I am weak- I had to give up 30 lbs. on my back squat in favor of improving my form.
• I am strong- I am learning about new lifts that I have never done- and keep working at them.
• I am weak- I am so bad at squat cleans that when I went online to watch videos about form, I saw little kids cleaning more than I can.
• I am strong- I have reached personal records in the bench press and front squat.
• I am weak- I still get so frustrated when I can’t lift as much as I thought I could.
• I am strong- I am really freaking good at rowing.

I have also found a wonderful community of people on the internet. Eat to Perform is a program that encourages you to do exactly what it says. Eat to fuel your performance. I have thought for the past 5 years that food is something you earn. That way lies an eating disorder. Food is necessary for life. Food is fuel. A month starting CrossFit, I spent 2 weeks cutting back on my calories. I thought I was doing great. And then, I had a workout that I struggled through. And I struggled through the next one. And the one after that. And I wanted to give up- to eat whatever I wanted- to binge the shit out of that carton of ice cream. And then I did some research, and found the ETP site. And thought about it. And thought about it more. And eventually, decided to try it out. And found a lot of science-based research on building muscle and physical performance. And I feel great. I’m not hangry. I’m not stuffed. I’m feeding my performance. People who are part of ETP don’t shame you for feeling hungry. They don’t suggest you eat a carrot stick after you did a 30 minute EMOM (every minute on the minute). They don’t promote stupid challenges that say you should do 10 burpees for every Christmas cookie you eat. Because food is fuel, and exercise isn’t punishment.

For the first time IN MY ENTIRE LIFE I am proud of myself. I am growing to accept myself. I am working toward being stronger and more capable. I am not worried- for the first time ever- about getting smaller or taking up less space. I want to grow. I want my thighs to grow so I can squat more. I want my shoulders to grow so I can lift more. I do not want my stomach to grow, but if it doesn’t shrink, I’m kind of ok with that. It is what it is, and I don’t think I can change it outside of an $11,000 operation. I want to be as strong as I can be. I don’t hang out with T and feel embarrassed about my thighs. I don’t see S and worry about covering my arms. They are them. I am me. What they have is nice, but it’s theirs. I can only have what’s mine.

Gifts are nice, but when you earn something, it’s so valuable. My life is a gift, but I’ve earned the abilities of this body. I’ve earned the space I consume. I’ve earned my scars. I’ve earned the ability to appreciate who I am and what I can do with this body, as imperfectly perfect as it is. When so many things in life are outside of our control, being able to look at myself in the mirror and for the first time ever not hate what I see is the most amazing thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. For the first time I’m not scared of how you see me. Of how anyone sees me. Because I’ve learned that how I see me is what counts.