A Constant Struggle

Thirty seconds. Twenty-eight.

I hate running. I hate this.

You can do it.

Fifteen seconds.

Ugggghhh!!! I'm so tired!! Even my inner voice is capable of whining like a 5-year-old when I'm tired enough.

Ten seconds.

I can hear Amber in my head. "You can do anything for ten seconds!"

Time! I push the down button the treadmill's--what is it? Dashboard? Control panel? I feel the belt slowing and I am walking again. Finally.


Why do I put myself through this?

I say it's all in the name of health, that I want to still be exercising when I'm 90, like my grandmother was. I don't have a body image problem, after all; I'm one of those smart girls who knows how absurd the beauty standards of our culture are. I know it's all but impossible for me to get six-pack abs. I know that, unless I manage to grow another 7 inches, I'll never look like a Victoria's Secret model. And I know that I am a perfectly healthy and average weight.

But there I am on the scale, just about every morning. There I am on Sunday afternoon, feeling grumpy and seeking comfort in food, then feeling guilty about it later.

It's not about intelligence, or being a smart girl, or being aware of the impossible standards. It's not about how many gender studies classes I've taken, how many magazine ads I've looked at and analyzed. It's not about understanding what is or is not a healthy weight for my height.

It's about what I've been told, over and over and over, since I was a little girl. And I've been told, in ways subtle and not, that my body, my appearance, my attractiveness as decided by men is what makes me worthwhile. And then I've been told that I'll never be enough, that I'll always need another product, another diet, a new exercise, in order to be perfect. And that's what I should want, and strive for. To be perfect. Perfectly attractive as defined by someone else.

I'm not saying that I want to stop exercising. I actually enjoy it, most of the time. I do want to be healthy and I like feeling strong. I want to be able to spend a day outdoors, moving and playing, and not be exhausted immediately. I do want to still be exercising when I'm 90. And if nothing else, I want to be able to run away from a murderer, or fight back against one, should I ever need to. I don't believe that exercising is inherently bad, or anti-woman, or anti-feminist, and it doesn't mean that I have an eating disorder.

What I do have is a constant fight. And I think many women these days do. I have to fight with myself and all the inner voices every day. I fight over how much exercise I need to maintain my healthy weight and how much exercise I need to look "hot". One voice tells me I've gained a pound since yesterday, or three since last week, and I need to watch out, while the other one tells me I'm fine and I'm healthy and fuck looking hot, those french fries last night were delicious!

I have to fight to remind myself that it's my life, that I can, that I should, look how I want and spend my time how I want. I have to fight to remember that, no matter what the magazines say, I'm not working out for a bikini body. I'm working out so that I can live a long and healthy life. I'm working out so that sitting at a desk doesn't ruin my body's ability to function. I'm working out so that I can live an active life (hopefully, more active than my current one). I'm working out so I can have time to myself when I can think and not have to talk.

It's a struggle, but ultimately, I'm fighting to define who I am in a world that wants to tell me who I should be. And even when it's hard, or I lose sight of it for a minute, I'm getting there.