Bodies In Motion

at least I am STILL disturbingly attracted to my own feet . . .

Dear Body,

I noticed another gray hair today.  It has made me, again, contemplate how I will age. 

I suspect it will not be graceful.


I saw with shock how you suddenly changed a few months ago.  For one, there was the sudden weight gain in my gut.  Which is not to say that I’ve never had a gut before: I’ve just never had one be so pronounced without my thighs and ass simultaneously making themselves known. 

As I stare at my gut in the mirror, I am reminded of a forty-something friend of mine.  I remember, several years ago, admiring her toned legs, but pitying her belly flab.  I thought her lower body looked sort of ‘blockish’ when she wore shorts.  I vowed to never allow myself to get that way, and I silently felt bad for her.

And now I am her.

Oh, Body, why have you forsaken me?

To add to my woes, within the last few months I’ve suddenly gone Sasquatch, sprouting a whole new batch of hair in the most unwomanly of spots.  Which is not to say, again, that I’ve never had unwanted facial hair: I am, after all, of Germanic descent.  However, the sheer volume and frequency of my new, lustrous locks is both horrifying and troubling. 

To add insult to injury, you’re allowing my skin to both sag and become dull while concurrently giving me acne.  I wish you’d make up your mind how old you want me to be.  Or at least find a way for me to afford weekly facials.  (Facials!  Something I’d always scoffed at before as superficial, and now they sound like heaven!)

I wonder if, in thirty years, I will be that gray-bearded lady working the cash register at the Buy-'N-Go, the buttons of my polyester burnt-orange vest straining to cover the twin lumps of my large gut and even larger boobs (those same boobs that used to belong just under my shoulders, but are now instead determined to keep my belly button company).

Oh, Body, what happened to us?  Why must we feel stiff all day, even after spending half an hour stretching?  Why does the thought of knee surgery suddenly make sense?  Why must we crave a nap at 2 p.m.?  Why can’t we do the things in our Bootcamp class that we could do just last month? 

You’re turning me into one of those people for whom – as a young whipper-snapper – I felt nothing but superiority and pity.  Along with the loss of my youth, I must now feel the folly of that lost youth.

My only solace is the hope that, if my body’s determined to rearrange itself, my mind will follow suit.  I don’t mean that I want my mind to abandon me: I just hope it rearranges my priorities so that I don’t care so much what the ol’ body’s up to. 

It’s been working a bit: as I luxuriated on the couch this last week, noting the way my gut interfered with my ability to easily reach the pint of Ben and Jerry’s at my feet, I found myself giggling instead of crying.  I exposed my belly to the air and puffed it out as much as I could, which resulted in my sudden ability to look 5 months pregnant.  Or maybe six.  I called Bee over and invited him to rub my belly as if it were a lucky Buddha statue.  Unflappable man that he is, he gamely complied.

I sat there for a few moments and just stroked my soft belly skin.  I was in awe of the way I could puff it out to make it bigger or just lay in a prone position and let gravity do wonders for it.  I  admired the awesome tan I worked so hard to get a few weeks ago, which gave my stomach a pleasingly healthy glow and was made more beautiful by the strip of pale flesh my underwear covered.  I flexed my legs and enjoyed the firmness in my thighs, thanks to those Bootcamp classes.

Later, I went shopping for shorts, and I happily bought a pair a size bigger than last year's, pleased simply because they didn’t cut off my circulation.

This week, I have come to the realization that, for 34, I’m really not doing too badly.  For the first time, I’m at peace with my body shape, and it’s very empowering to let go of the pressure to look a certain way.  I have no idea how long this feeling will last: maybe by this time next week I will be deep in the self-sacrificing throes of a diet . . . but – for this week – that kind of bullshit just doesn’t feel necessary.  And that feels great.

Now, if my mind would only come to terms with my body’s extra hair, dull skin, and stiff joints, we’d be fine.