.. is completely proportionate to how deeply I feel on this subject.
There are moments of clarity from my childhood, where I remember quite clearly making a realization of some sort. There was one moment I want to talk about, and it took place sitting on my neighbors porch swing (yeah, I'm that old) when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My neighbor, her name was Cindy, was the same age I was, as a matter of fact we shared the same birthday. We were good friends from the time I moved in next door at 5, till junior high when she became way too cool for me. But that's another story altogether.
The image that I can see in my mind's eye is of Cindy's bare feet. She never had bare feet. I was one of those kids who never had shoes on and my feet were brown and calloused and dirty all the time. But Cindy had flat feet and was never allowed outside without her shoes on. Special shoes. Those shoes never stopped her for a second, and she always had to wear them.
One day I went over to Cindy's house, she was just out of the bathtub and begged her mom to let her go outside without her shoes. She promised she would only sit on the swing, she wouldn't walk anywhere except from the door to the swing and from the swing to the door. With promises in place, her mom let her come out and sit on the swing with me.
Cindy's feet were impossibly pink and pale and they looked so soft. I was fascinated by them, they were so different from my own. They were also long and narrow, total opposites of mine. As I stared at Cindy's feet while I pushed the swing with mine, I realized it wasn't only her feet that were different. You could see the long muscles in her legs. She had long slender fingers and strong sinewy arms and when she stood you could see the definition of her muscles even more.
Remember, we were 7 or 8 years old. Cindy didn't exercise, she played! WE played. We ran around and chased each other, we roller skated and sometimes pretended to be famous baseball players. When Cindy could get her hands on her brother's skate board we would sail down the driveway on it. We were active, outside all day long in the summer, we were the same that way.
But I was soft.
You wouldn't have been able to see the muscles or any definition in my legs or arms. My feet were (still are) short and wide. My hands were chubby and my face was full. I wasn't chubby overall at the time. But you could tell Cindy and I naturally had different body types. She was better at anything athletic than I was. She could do cartwheels way before I could, she could run faster and throw a ball like a boy.
I realized at that moment while looking at Cindy's feet, that people are different, fundamentally.
We are not all blessed with naturally athletic bodies. We are not all given genes that predispose us to be thin or fast or smart or beautiful - or any of those things we value about physicality in this society. So while I understand many people work very hard at achieving fitness, some people start out with a better hand naturally.
My
office room mate at work is one of those naturally thin people. She is 57 years old and maybe only 10 lbs heavier than she was in high school. She eats all day long. She does exercise but not consistently, definitely not all the time. And if I ate the amount she does, or what she does, and exercised the amount she does, I would still not have her body.
I am different from her.
Today I was, believe it or not, kind of looking forward to my
torture conditioning. Matter of fact I was debating whether or not to tell that to Mercedes as I was driving to my appointment. But when I got there, I had someone else. A young guy named Scott. I had not met him before. I knew I was supposed to have tomorrow's appointment with him, but today I was scheduled with Mercedes. Okay, that was fine.
In any situation that is new, my m.o. is to joke around, usually in a self deprecating way, to get a feel for the other person, to break the ice, etc. Scott came in the room as I was getting off the treadmill, he had been upstairs finishing off with another client while I was getting started. He asked me some questions, made a few funny remarks which is obviously his personality. Great - I hate it when I have to deal with someone who won't crack a smile or laugh. But when he asked what my aim was, why I was there, his response took me aback.
I said I was getting ready to do the lap band and he asked about when I was scheduled. I told him I wouldn't be scheduled for another 5 months at least. He said something to the effect of "why not spend the next 5 months doing this - and not have the surgery?" He said it as an aside, a throw away line not actually meant to be discussed or answered. He probably expected me to laugh but instead I said "you need another job." I'm not sure if he even heard me.
Fat is one of the last allowable prejudices out there. Well, that and being a Christian these days but that's for another day and another blog. People who are fat are seen as lazy gluttons who lay around with a bucket of fried chicken, a pint of premium ice-cream and a big gulp beside them, watching TV and feeding their faces.
Anyone who has gotten to the point of considering weight loss surgery has felt the sting of people's perceptions of them over and over again. If not in what they say then in how they look at them. At how people smirk when they order food at a restaurant or watch what's on the belt in the check-out at the grocery store. If you are fat in this society it's allowed to be looked down upon. Because it's always your fault.
I did not feel like I should have to explain my weight to Scott. I didn't feel like I should have to tell him how many times I have exercised and eaten right and lost weight. And obviously gained it again. Did he need to know that my initial weight gain was with my first pregnancy? No, because he could just point to someone who has had several children and doesn't look like me. Did I owe him an explanation about quitting smoking and taking meds that can cause weight gain, did I need to explain to him about how your body screams to be fat if you've ever been fat before? So if you have been fat and lose weight, you will always struggle with it. Did I have to explain that to him? Maybe I needed to tell him about breaking my ankle in 3 places and the plate and pins I still carry from it? Or what about caring for my mother for the last 6 months with a crazy schedule and taking care of her until she died with all the emotions that accompany that? What about the huge amount of stress at work for the last year and half? Did he deserve to hear about how I don't sleep well so am tired all. the. time??
No. I didn't owe him any of those explanations. Because the fact is - I am fat. I got here. I have tried and tried to change it. Actively. But I always end up here again. And I simply can't do this anymore. I am fifty-freaking-one years old. I have developed diabetes and my toes burn all the time. This is like a reset button for me. A second chance. And nobody,
nobody has the right to be condescending to me about it.
Now I'm sure Scott would say that wasn't what he meant by it. And I am absolutely sure he meant no harm, was not trying to be insulting or patronizing or anything of the sort when he suggested I might want to exercise for 5 months and skip the surgery. And I am equally sure he's a good guy and not a jerk, but I couldn't let it slip.
I did not want an apology, I wanted him to understand why what he said was insulting and hurtful.
If a man is going to work in a rehab situation and it is going to include working with fat people who are headed for weight loss surgery, he needs to have a perspective change. I don't need any implications that I haven't exercised or haven't tried to lose weight using hard work or that surgery is the easy way out. I don't need to be coddled but I could use some encouragement when I am putting on sweats and working out harder than I have in years. Treadmill I have done, but those lunges and squats - Oh. My. God.
But I digress.
I told Scott we needed to have a little talk about the remark he made. And ... wait for it .. wait for it ... he didn't know which remark I was referring to! GAH!
There was no way I could get my thoughts straight while doing lunges in order to tell him what he said and why it was bad. I tried. But it sounded whiny and stupid. And I have no doubt when I left he said "what a freaking bitch!" I suppose I wouldn't have blamed him either.
When I got in the car and started to drive home I was near tears. I was remembering how my mom told me - after I had lost the weight from my first pregnancy - that when she saw me at 9 months - she just felt sick. Yeah. Good memory. And I remembered my
office room mate at work telling me that because I own a treadmill, I have no excuse! Or how one of the guys at work looked at a picture of me from 5 years ago and said "wow BJ, you used to be hot!" Yeah, good times. And there will always be Ken Cooper who set the stage in 7th grade when he pointed to my butt and said "bigger than the whole state of Alaska!" gesturing with his arms to illustrate the gigantic size.
I did not experience much of the teasing or bullying some fat people have. But it still hurts when someone is not sensitive at all to the fact that people who are fat - don't want to be fat. At least for the most part. People are different from the get-go and the path people travel is uniquely their own. You cannot judge someone by their size.
You do not know how they got there.
And I
bet you - Cindy has
never been fat.
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