Fit or fat... or both?

We were having a conversation at the lunch table about what time people got up in the morning, and what they did with the time. I said that I'm still getting up at 5 every day to work out at the gym.

"Oh yes!" my colleague clapped with enthusiasm. "You've been doing that for...?"
"About two years now."
"Fantastic! And how are you feeling? What has it done for you? Do you have more energy?"

I didn't want to disappoint my raw-food enthusiast friend, or the math teacher who's also a runner, or the health coordinator, or any of the other friends I share a salad with once a week, but the gods' honest truth is this: I'm not sure it's done a damn thing but rob me of an hour of sleep.

I mean, maybe I do have more energy, but I also rarely get as much as seven hours' sleep a night. So they kind of, you know, cancel each other out.

I'm not saying going to the gym has done nothing for me. I feel more muscle definition, particularly in my arms. And I haven't gained weight, despite the fact that I haven't been watching my food intake as carefully lately. But, well... I'm feeling pretty goddamn ambivalent about the whole thing lately.

See, sometimes I see my neighbors, who are bikers and runners and rowers, and I'd love to be athletic.

And sometimes I look at Michelle Obama, and I think, I just want to be toned.

And then I run across a lingerie ad and think, fuck athleticism and toning, I just want to be skinny and sexy.

And then I think, oh my god, what unhealthy, disordered thinking! Skinny doesn't mean sexy. I'm gorgeous and sexy as-is.

And then I see myself in a photo and I feel like an ugly lump. Like, I ran across this picture of me and Sweetie from his high school reunion, and I thought I looked super-hot that night, but it turns out that I looked like the Michelin man in gold lamé.

And then I think, I've got a kid. A daughter. It's my job to teach her to love herself, to love her body. To see that health and fitness are more important than body shape.

And my health is good. I'm fit.

But fat.

Are fit and fat even opposites? I mean, I work out, I ride my bike, I can hike and walk long distances, I can lift weights. I can hold my own in Zumba class*. My cholesterol and blood pressure are both very good. I'm overweight, but I don't suffer from any weight-related health issues.  But would I someday?

My Facebook feed has links to blog posts from moms who say out loud that they themselves are beautiful, just as they are. And links to articles about how anyone could lose weight if they really wanted to and tried hard enough.

I unsubscribed from Livestrong's newsletter after about the fifth article in a week that said if you were fat, you were making excuses and not trying hard enough.

I want my body to be able to do cool stuff, like karate or capoeira or dance. I feel great when I dance. I wish I had the time and money to go back to ballet.

And I could probably lose the extra weight, and I know exactly how. It involves Weight Watchers. My metabolism has changed a lot since I used to drop weight easily on the WW, but I could still do it. What it would mean, though, is skipping desserts except on days when I had carefully planned for them. It would mean skipping the cocktails at poker night. It would mean having a salad when we go out to dinner, dressing on the side. It would mean being hungry a fair amount, and craving things that I could not have. It would mean planning every last detail, paying attention to every last bite, and often going without things that I like. And I really like food. Honestly, cheese? Man, cheese makes me happy. It would make me unhappy to skip the cheese. So is it worth being unhappy to lose weight?

I know people who are that careful with their diet. My mom is probably a perfect example. She knows when she's invited to a birthday party that there will be cake, so she has extra-light other meals that day. I envy her self-discipline. I don't even think she's unhappy. And I don't think she likes cheese less than me. I think she just wants it more than me -- wants not to be fat. I think I like cheese more than I like thinness. But I don't know. Because thinness looks pretty good, too.

And it's all complicated by the fact that we may, someday soon, think about actually giving Z that little brother or sister she keeps begging for, and why would I lose 40 pounds just to gain 40 pounds again? Even though starting a pregnancy fat is riskier than starting a pregnancy at normal weight.

You see? It's complicated. I want to model healthy attitudes and healthy eating. I want to model joy and self-love and self-esteem. I do not want to model obsessiveness and calorie-counting, or indulgence and sloth, and I do not want to model self-hatred. I think a fine line exists in there somewhere, but I'm having a hard time finding it, and I suspect it will be a hard one to walk, too.





*This is modesty. I straight-up ROCK at Zumba.