I enrolled in a 15-week fitness program and it’s the first time I’ve done such a thing since college when I could barely find the courage to show up at a kickboxing gym with my sister.
Today was the first day of the program and we had our initial wellness checks. She wrote down my height, weight, jiggled a couple keys on her laptop, wrote down my BMI (body mass index) and circled “overweight.”
Then she told me I was “nearly obese” – point nine points away, according to the BMI.
And when I walked away from the building, I thought about how insignificant those numbers are. I was thinking about my story.
The story of how I once was too embarrassed to walk in public at the park and so I’d walk my dogs in 1/10 of a mile circles around my neighbor’s house. We’d walk around that house 10 times – one mile. Then two miles. Then three. Then I got dizzy and with my lug of a German shepherd next to me whose energy level INSISTED we walk every day, we started walking along my road. Then I found the courage to go to the park. I discovered that no one judged me. Now we hike up to 30 miles a week.
The story of my first competitive race and the 5Ks I’ve done since then. The midnight one. The fundraiser ones. The duathalon where I rode a bike for 10 miles.
The story of how I have to dig for courage even now to go to the gym and how I judge myself nearly every day.
The story of how I started making good choices for my life and my health and lost 40-something pounds. And kept it off.
The story of my food choices and how they’ve changed over the past 4.5 years. I pack my own lunches (and dinners if necessary), and snacks. There’s always a case of bottled water in my car. No fast food or soda EVER for 4.5 years. Sugar is banned.
The story of smaller clothes sizes and learning how to accept and appreciate them. How to clean out my closet and lose the fear of ever “getting fat” again.
The story of re-learning my own body – its beautiful abilities, the less space it takes up, the extra room between my chest and the steering wheel of my car, how small my fingers have gotten.
The story of how I still catch myself in a window or mirror and think, “Is that really me?”
These are the stories a formula can’t generate.
I am not nearly obese.
I am healthy. I am strong.
My body is beautiful.
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