Anna Rae Gwarjanski Portfolio |
One year ago today, Craig and I ran our first (and probably only) marathon. I’m reminiscing and looking at photos, and I came across this one: Is it flattering? No, definitely not. A decade ago, I never would have been able to share a photo like this, and that just goes to show how much my vision has changed and reminds me what I was running for, the National Eating Disorders Foundation.
I've been seeing a lot of people worrying about gaining weight during quarantine. There are more than a few memes about it -- some of which are pretty funny! Maybe some people in the body-positive community will disagree with me, but I don't think light-hearted humor when coming from a light-hearted place is wrong. What's wrong is when it steps over the line into self-loathing. I fully believe there is a size your body wants to be, and it’s ridiculous to spend your whole life fighting it. When I swam competitively, I had a number in my head that my body needed to be under for me to be "fast" -- 170 pounds (and “fast” equaled “worthy,” but I’ve written other blog posts about that). A big part of my high school and college swimming experience was killing myself to be 165 pounds. I'd weigh myself every morning, and if I woke up at 171, I couldn't eat until I was under. I fought SO HARD to get my body at that arbitrary number, even though it was obvious, for whatever reason, that wasn't a healthy weight for me. (I want to mention that I swam my fastest times at my heaviest weight -- 185 -- but I digress. That's not that point of this post.) What seems so silly to me now is the fact that once I gave up trying to strive for a certain number and ate how I wanted and exercised how I wanted, my body settled at 170-175. I've played back-to-back 80-minute rugby games at this weight. I've run a marathon at this weight. I've competed in an olympic weightlifting meet at this weight. I now do crossfit at this weight. This is a comfortable mass for me, and it's only 5 pounds away from the weight that I was eating 1,000 calories and exercising 8 hours a day, six days a week for. In contrast, I don't track my food anymore, but I'm guessing I now eat about 2,500 calories a day, and I exercise 1-2 hours, four or five times a week. That fact blows my mind. From a nutritional and physiological standpoint, I don't really understand it. Calories in, calories out, right? But it's just the truth. If I'm honest, maybe I would trade this body in for one that's a little lighter, a little more toned, a little more lean. But then again, I don't know that I would. This body and I, we've been through so much together, and I love it too much to disrespect the space it takes up nowadays. I read somewhere that those last 5 pounds you're trying to lose is where you live your life. It's your late-night pizza after your sister's bachelorette party. It's your ice cream with a friend when she's feeling down. It's your one-more-glass-of-wine when you're on a date with your partner. Those 5-10 pounds are your favorite memories, your unforgettable trips, your celebrations of life. Those extra pounds are your spontaneity, your freedom, your love. I'm not willing to put those things on hold anymore. If you're feeling tied to an overbearing number, I challenge you to figure out why, and if it's worth it. Hint: It's probably not.
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About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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