That's Why They Have Wine: The Battle of The Bulge

That's Why They Have Wine: The Battle of The Bulge: Weight.   It’s that one thing I think every female has thought about at some point or another. We see the “perfect” images of what we ...

The Battle of The Bulge

Weight.  It’s that one thing I think every female has thought about at some point or another.

We see the “perfect” images of what we are supposed to look like every day, even as children.  We are told this is what we are supposed to be, sometimes even by our parents.

I can remember when I was about 11 or so, my mom took me to the pediatrician because she thought I was overweight.  In fact, per the doctor, I was underweight.  This is one of the clearest childhood memories I have.  That memory probably should have made me think “Well, there, leave me alone!” but, for some reason, instead, it was the beginning of my weight worries.

I was a competitive gymnast starting at about the age of 12.  Our coaches were always pointing out our body imperfections, and the size of my trunk (not the one with junk, the one between your shoulders and hips!) was often called into question.  At that time, the muscular body was just thought to be fat. And, well, I actually have a freakishly large rib cage.

When I was 15, I started running track.  I was obsessed with having the “runner’s body.”  I became both anorexic and bulimic.  I don’t think anyone even noticed that I was lying that I ate, or that if I did eat, I threw it up afterward (you learn to do it VERY quietly).  I lost a lot of weight, I was bony.  I thought I would die if I didn’t get in at least 7 miles of running a day, and I would feel guilty if I ate ONE saltine cracker for a snack.  My mom did notice I was getting too thin, and would try to force me to eat things like chocolate cake (another very vivid memory, it was a birthday cake, we were at my grandparent’s house), but she had no idea I just threw it up later.

When I went away to college, things got a little better with my eating disorders.  I think a lot of it was just that we had communal bathrooms and I was scared someone would know when I was puking.  However, I was still obsessed with my weight.  I did, manage, however, to gain that freshman year 10 pounds, and, though I was still probably underweight, the first time I went home for a weekend, the first thing I heard was “Wow, you’re hips are getting too big.  You need to watch what you eat.”

While in college, I participated in a psychology experiment for extra credit in one of my classes.  The study was about perception of how “fat” you were, as compared to your actual size.  I’m the one who threw the curve, as I perceived myself much larger than my tiny self.  The study was actually summarized in Cosmopolitan magazine several years later, after I graduated, and when I read it, that’s when it really hit me that I had an issue.

I started therapy for this, and for some other things, and learned to not be afraid of food.  I remained rather thin, though I ate like crazy, but that was because I was still distance running competitively, and not because I was starving myself.  I had more energy and ran better, and didn’t worry about what I was eating.

I broke my foot in 1998, when I was 30, major stress fracture training for a marathon, when I had really reached my prime in the sport.  Though I tried running again, that and all the arthritis I developed (toes, knees, hips!) from all my years of running kept me from ever getting back to that competitive level.  I started gaining weight.  Then a few years later, I got pregnant, and, that was it, I had a different body!

I struggled for a long time again with how I felt about my weight.  Early menopause did not help, as hormones made my entire body type change.  I was eating healthy, but I still gained weight.  I started feeling very bad about myself again, and fought to keep from getting to that place I was as a teenager.

I currently, at age 51, weigh 50 pounds more than I did at my 90 pound anorexic low point.  I am technically overweight, but not the “obese” that my (female) doctor told me I was, I looked it up myself, I’m not even that overweight.  I have developed high blood pressure and my cholesterol, which has always been on the high end, even at 90 pounds, went up some, so I have tried to drop a few pounds to see if it will help, though it is most likely hereditary, as my mom and grandma, both also shamed about their not-that-much-overweight weight, had been, and we all ate healthy! 

The big difference, though, is that about a year ago, I finally came to just accept my body for what it is.  It’s not about what I look like.  I don’t even look that big, and I look much better now that I accepted my weight and am not trying to squeeze into clothes that are too small because I want to think I need the small and not the medium, or even large.  I actually remember being a teenager, in those really rough years, and admiring women in their 40’s and 50’s, including those in my family, for being happy though they were not model-thin, and I could not wait to be that age so I could feel the same.  It took me this long to get to where they were, because I had to realize it’s not age, it’s mindset.

I am just fine the way I am.  I will continue to eat healthy to try to help my health, but if it doesn’t make me lose weight, I’m OK with that.  And it’s a good excuse to buy new clothes.

That’s why they have wine.