Age 49: Day 12
I will preface this post by saying that I HATE it when women complain about their body, especially skinny women. Frankly, it's usually skinny women who complain, because those of us who are chubby tend to not want to bring attention to the situation. So, that said, I feel compelled to reveal an occasional inner dialogue about my body. This from someone who has worked hard to find (intermittent) body peace, who loves food and wine but also likes exercise (really! at least I do afterward!), who tries to keep the whole scale/diet/body thing in perspective, because really--a person only has so much emotional energy and aren't we all agreed that there are more important and fulfilling things to save it for?
That preamble aside, this was a snippet of my inner voice this morning, after my RUN, no less, where I actually passed a few other runners (as opposed to walkers), runners who were under age 70. Progress! (I have my trainer to thank for that. She is teaching me the difference between jogging and striding. If you run, and say to yourself: "Reach! Reach! Reach!" with each stride, your stride lengthens and you go farther with less effort.
But back to the body dialogue:
- Love my breasts/Hate my thighs
- Love my hair except when it's frizzy and the gray is showing/wish my nose was straighter
- Midsection could be better/but at least I have slender ankles and calves
- Despise my hips but my butt isn't bad
- Copacetic with teeth & skin (except for the increasing number of age spots!)
- Happy with my feet/but what happened to my hands?! They look like my grandma's hands used to look!
- ....and so on.
I'm putting this out there not for reassurance or to ask for compliments (an annoying habit) but to get the words down on paper, see how dumb it all looks and say: I WANT TO STOP THIS.
I am me, body and mind, heart and soul. I have a wonderful, hot, handsome husband who desires me and loves me. What's the effin' PROBLEM? #EnoughIsEnough! as you might say on Twitter.