I must admit I have a love/hate relationship with you. When I was in elementary school, I hated being the tallest in my class. Yet when I was in high school and I was stuck playing point guard instead of center, I hated that too. I hated how quickly my womanly hips showed up after I stopped playing college soccer, and how quickly those curves turned to apathy and disregard toward my wish to take care of myself as I had known how to my whole life. I didn’t even want to step on a scale or look in the mirror.
When I ended college as a size 12, I hated myself. But I missed the physical pain I could put my body through via exercise and the subsequent pride I felt upon completing a challenge. I put on the cleats again, as well as the running shoes. Now, a year later, I am proud of my physical fitness, my ability to run 10 miles and play soccer with ease. I like how my legs look, how my arms have toned and my ass. Yes, my ass looks great. I look at myself naked after exercise or a shower and think, “Damn, I look good.”
Yet, somehow, even though I love my commitment to physical fitness and the joy of the addiction to my runner’s high, I am a bit afraid. I am afraid that this might go overboard. You see, a year later I managed to fit comfortably into a size 2. I’ve never been that skinny, even in my prime days as a three-sport high school athlete and a college athlete. Am I just exceeding what I thought my body could do or abusing it in a way that I just now am developing a mild consciousness of doing so?
I love how I look right now. Love it, love it and want to flaunt it. But I still hate the possibility that it is not the best way for this to be done.
Love and hate,
The inhibitor of you, Body