July 19, 2013

It's only taken 22 years to get here, but: tonight, my own body is a pretty good place to be.

Today, like a lot of days, I spent about an hour cycling. I restocked the fridge at work carrying 24 litres of milk at a time. I ate lentils and drank rose-water soda-water. I slept outside wearing very little clothing. I squatted with an 85-pound barbell on my back, and I deadlifted more than my own body weight.

I swear I felt older when I was 13 than I do now. When I was 13, my body seemed to be breaking down--I was a disintegrating pile of angry red stretch marks and excess weight that had only brought an uncomfortable, overblown femininity and no new stamina or ability to speak of. The only salvation I saw was in shrinking myself down, becoming impossibly small and slight.

A few weeks ago, I saw a picture on a fashion blog of a tiny, gorgeous woman who was about the size and shape I'd always wanted to be. She wrote that she wanted to bulk up, become healthier because she couldn't lift a frying pan.