Body stuff
May. 3rd, 2004 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxI spent the weekend at Charlotte's and played with Shadow's six-week old kittens. The female is such a little hellion. Just like her mama. Awww.
Now for the body stuff:
Charlotte said, "That weight is looking really good on you."
I looked in the guest room mirror. I look the same, really. You wouldn't think I'd gained weight if you never saw me before. And I haven't really. I'm still just under a hundred pounds. However, I'm fuller. Curvier. Slightly fleshed out. Not so much bone-skinny now as much as muscle-skinny. The ab muscles are still so cut that if I tense up and turn to the side, you can see this weird divut where the muscle is visibly outlined under the skin. Anywhere I tense or clench, I feel rock-hard muscle. But if I don't tense up, if I just let everything go, I'm just as soft as anyone. I'd like to get to the point where my muscles are toned and taut without being clenched. That will take a hell of a lot of work, though, I'll admit it. But I sort of have the work cut out for me: Ever since I was a child, my muscles have always been super-clenched and tight, because of the cerebral palsy. That's what spastic paralytic CP does: Tightens one or more muscle groups, thereby limiting range of motion. And I have mixed CP. I know it's no excuse for saying "I've got great muscle tone" but, well, yeah, I do. CP or no. It's also genetic -- I have skinny, naturally hard-bodied parents. So I should at least be happy for a head start.
That does not mean, however, that I can slack off on exercise. I'm only human. I'm in my mid-twenties and I have just shaken off the worst of the anorexia. Unfortunately, now I'm faced with a trigger every time I look in the mirror: My face. It's gotten much fuller and filled out. And I have always seen that as chubbiness, a reminder of my baby fat. I didn't lose my baby fat till I was eighteen, so seeing my fuller cheeks takes me right back. Of course, they aren't as bad as I think: I still have the sharp Romanian cheekbones. My cheeks just don't look as sunken and gaunt as they used to. I now look like my LJ icon again. That picture was taken when I was 21 -- literally right before the anorexia grabbed me. I looked nice and healthy-thin then. Now I look like that again.
I measured myself the other day: I'm still the exact same size. There's just a tad more flesh everywhere. I guess I'm happy, because I'm certainly not upset, scared, or panicked. Yay?
The anorexia has, of course, left traces of its influence: I will still worry about going over my ideal target goal weight (98). I will still momentarily freak if I think I'm getting too soft or fleshy. I will still have moments when I won't even want to look at a plate of food. However, I am now supremely confident that I can look past all that and see myself the way everyone else sees me.
Hmm. Ever wonder if this whole weight thing is a throwback to the animal mind's time? Competition for a mate, for survival. Put a group of women together and they will all instinctively, unconsciously start comparing their bodies: "Am I skinnier/more muscled than that one? That one looks like she doesn't have to exercise or diet and she's gorgeous, the bitch. Am I prettier? Am I stronger? Does he like me better than he likes her? What does she have that I don't have?" We flaunt our muscles, our tightness, because for us, it's a sign of health and good breeding, isn't it? We'll even get a more attractive mate. Or, we can be happily shallow and just say that people with flat, hard abs and long, thin thighs just look sexier. It's what the magazines and commercials tell us. *rolls eyes*
What is the body factor, anyway? Why do we care? Answer: Because we're human and we have the ability to think, to reason, to judge, to compare, to decide. And because we have opposable thumbs that we can hook through the belt loops of our super-low jeans as we strut down the street.
Now for the body stuff:
Charlotte said, "That weight is looking really good on you."
I looked in the guest room mirror. I look the same, really. You wouldn't think I'd gained weight if you never saw me before. And I haven't really. I'm still just under a hundred pounds. However, I'm fuller. Curvier. Slightly fleshed out. Not so much bone-skinny now as much as muscle-skinny. The ab muscles are still so cut that if I tense up and turn to the side, you can see this weird divut where the muscle is visibly outlined under the skin. Anywhere I tense or clench, I feel rock-hard muscle. But if I don't tense up, if I just let everything go, I'm just as soft as anyone. I'd like to get to the point where my muscles are toned and taut without being clenched. That will take a hell of a lot of work, though, I'll admit it. But I sort of have the work cut out for me: Ever since I was a child, my muscles have always been super-clenched and tight, because of the cerebral palsy. That's what spastic paralytic CP does: Tightens one or more muscle groups, thereby limiting range of motion. And I have mixed CP. I know it's no excuse for saying "I've got great muscle tone" but, well, yeah, I do. CP or no. It's also genetic -- I have skinny, naturally hard-bodied parents. So I should at least be happy for a head start.
That does not mean, however, that I can slack off on exercise. I'm only human. I'm in my mid-twenties and I have just shaken off the worst of the anorexia. Unfortunately, now I'm faced with a trigger every time I look in the mirror: My face. It's gotten much fuller and filled out. And I have always seen that as chubbiness, a reminder of my baby fat. I didn't lose my baby fat till I was eighteen, so seeing my fuller cheeks takes me right back. Of course, they aren't as bad as I think: I still have the sharp Romanian cheekbones. My cheeks just don't look as sunken and gaunt as they used to. I now look like my LJ icon again. That picture was taken when I was 21 -- literally right before the anorexia grabbed me. I looked nice and healthy-thin then. Now I look like that again.
I measured myself the other day: I'm still the exact same size. There's just a tad more flesh everywhere. I guess I'm happy, because I'm certainly not upset, scared, or panicked. Yay?
The anorexia has, of course, left traces of its influence: I will still worry about going over my ideal target goal weight (98). I will still momentarily freak if I think I'm getting too soft or fleshy. I will still have moments when I won't even want to look at a plate of food. However, I am now supremely confident that I can look past all that and see myself the way everyone else sees me.
Hmm. Ever wonder if this whole weight thing is a throwback to the animal mind's time? Competition for a mate, for survival. Put a group of women together and they will all instinctively, unconsciously start comparing their bodies: "Am I skinnier/more muscled than that one? That one looks like she doesn't have to exercise or diet and she's gorgeous, the bitch. Am I prettier? Am I stronger? Does he like me better than he likes her? What does she have that I don't have?" We flaunt our muscles, our tightness, because for us, it's a sign of health and good breeding, isn't it? We'll even get a more attractive mate. Or, we can be happily shallow and just say that people with flat, hard abs and long, thin thighs just look sexier. It's what the magazines and commercials tell us. *rolls eyes*
What is the body factor, anyway? Why do we care? Answer: Because we're human and we have the ability to think, to reason, to judge, to compare, to decide. And because we have opposable thumbs that we can hook through the belt loops of our super-low jeans as we strut down the street.
