Body image, aerobics and me

Maybe it was the way the instructor talked.
"Come on girls, shake that ass, we don't want any cellulite on the beach!"
"If you're not in pain, you're not shaping up!"

Maybe it was the techno music, including a remix of Whitney Houston's version of "I will always love you" which sounded like a child had tinkered with a DJing program on his parents' Mac. Some things should not be remixed. Or even sung. Dolly Parton's version is much better.

Or maybe it was the locker room. I hate locker rooms. They remind me of being chosen last for gym classes and they have a horror movie vibe about them. When I open a locker, I half expect to find a severed head with a post-it on its forehead.

Anyone who knows me just a bit will eventually hear my long rants about how we are conditioned from birth to hate ourselves so we will eventually buy stuff from advertisers. Whether you are thin, fat, in between, or even on a diet, you can love your body and it will show in your confidence. Ahem, here I am ranting again. Moving on...

I had an opportunity to put my endless speechifying to the test this week, when I went to an aerobics and stretching class with a friend. I belong to a track and field club and run about four times a week, but my friend wanted us to do something fun together and I accepted. Also I'm as stiff as a poker, so a bit of stretching won't harm me.

All the girls in the class were incredibly slim, lycra-clad and glossy-haired. I felt incredibly awkward among them from the beginning. I had no trouble following the class, even though I sometimes doubt I own abdominal muscles, and I enjoyed some portions of it, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was ugly. That I took too much space.


I had this feeling all throughout my eating disorder. I'm too big! I'm too tall! No clothes will ever fit! After months of cognitive therapy, I managed to feel proud of myself. I started running. I never feel bad about myself while I run, even if I'm slow or not feeling very well. I feel free, happy, and attuned to myself.

So why did that aerobics class make me feel so terrible?

It's not the other girls. In my university, almost all the female students are affluent and very groomed, with that thin look that most people associate with French women. I am usually the biggest person in any given class, but also among the tallest. This is fine.

So what to do? I've decided to give the class another go. Maybe I was cranky. Maybe I was having a bad day.

But if it still makes me feel bad, and full of self-loathing, I will drop it. At least I won't have to stick my bottom up in the air while the instructor intones: "Come on, girls, stretch those glutes!"

Is there an uglier word than "glutes"? I hope not.

Fat talk

Murky waters, here, but I've been hearing a lot of annoying, misinformed and poorly worded comments on fat people lately. Cases in point:
1) Discussion with an acquaintance. She is very slim and barely 5 ft tall, and I am 5'10. She was telling me that she could only find cute clothes that fit in vintage shops since she is so petite. We shared horrible shopping experiences, and then she said: I never understand why some shops sell XXL miniskirts or sequined jackets. I mean, why would fat people emphasize their body?
What really got me was that she had just as much difficulty finding nice clothes that fit than fat women! NO empathy there.

2)Discussion with my track and field group: my coach was telling us to have a healthy diet while training, and I ruefully admitted that I eat lots and lots of candy, chocolate and consume litres of lemonade. The coach then said: Oh, as long as you don't get fat, you're OK.
Hmmmm...so health means being thin, right?

I am a recovering bulimic. I know what it means to hate your body, to treat it like crap, to punish it for existing. Did shaming myself transform me into the thin person I wanted to be? No. Yet this is what we try to accomplish with fat people, shaming them into becoming acceptable in our eyes.

The way we talk about fat, the way we treat people who are fat is disgraceful and wrong. Better people have said it much better than I could, but fat discrimination in terms of health care or travel or anything really is an infringement of human rights.

And I want to talk back.

French women don't get fat

This post was inspired by Britni's photo essay on plus-size models.

When I was living in America, two things surprised me: the way people would discuss their weight problems and diets while actually having dinner; and the way exercise was seen as something virtuous, even necessary. "I don't exercise" got incredulous looks. Don't you know it's good for you???

In France, you don't talk about diets during meals. Being on a diet is not something you share with other people, it's shameful. It means you are going to be a bore at parties. It means that you are going to annoy friends and partners with the question:"Can you tell I've lost X kilos?"

Exercise is not seen as something virtuous: it's bewildering for many of us. Why would you inflict pain voluntarily on yourself? Sure, people do it, but only for the aesthetic benefits. No talk of "how good it feels".

Yet weight is an obsession. It's a secret, a hidden obsession. It's not that French women don't get fat; many are. I believe our obesity rates are climbing every year. But in Paris, populated mostly by rich people because of rent costs, being fat is something rare and strange. And if you're fat, well, you know...Just stop eating.

When I lived in Chicago, my views on weight changed drastically. On the one hand, I, the "plump" girl, was considered normal. On the other, the American relationship to food troubled me greatly. Food isn't only fuel: it's also taste and pleasure. I was dismayed not by the quantity of food but by its poor quality. I began to wonder if we couldn't combine the French and American attitudes to food and diet to create a healthier approach to eating!

I also met some wonderful people who talked to me about the scientific facts behind our bodies. I became an advocate of Health At Every Size. I realized that my weight (now I'm considered normal/big-boned, at twenty I was called "plump") was something I couldn't control completely, just like my height.

But you know what? Living in France I still have to listen to people criticizing others for being fat, for not being in control. As a recovering bulimic, this is not very helpful, but beyond that, it goes against scientific evidence and common humanity.

We rarely see images of fat people. In my side-bar you'll find an awesome fashion blog by Big Beauty, who lives in Paris. She's one of the rare "fatshionistas" in the French blogosphere. Every month or so, some French lady magazine does a spread on "fat fashion", modeled by size eights.

I believe we are imprisonned by the ideal image of the effortlessly thin French woman, smoking her cigarette while savouring her chocolate dessert. We're supposed to be perfect, while never showing strain or effort. A poll came out recently showing that French women are the thinnest in Europe, and simultaneously have the worst body image. I'm not surprised at all. I'm just sad.

Eating disorders

I am a bulimic. I think of myself as a recovering bulimic, not as a cured one. Maybe, like alcoholics, we are never really cured, and bulimia is an addiction.

I've been in recovery for about a year, with several episodes of relapsing, but I try to envisage these episodes not as an indictment of my recovery, but simply as relapses that I get over. These usually occur in times of stress, such as during my breakup, or while preparing myself for my new school year. I'll eat a huge quantity of food and then purge.

Last year I started running to combat stress and embrace my body more. I thought that if I could appreciate my body for what it could do, I would stop abusing it-this is encouraged by therapists who practice cognitive therapy. I was following a hand book which uses cognitive therapy as guidance, and it helped me tremendously. This book would encourage me to compile reasons to enjoy my body outside of food. I decided to take up running because it is cheap and solitary. I loathe the idea of an exercice class.
A year later I am training for a half-marathon which will take place in a month. Running has become part of my daily life and has changed my way of coping with sadness and bulimia. It hasn't cured me, it hasn't made me into a perfect Sara, but it has relieved me and made me stronger. However, it has also changed my body in ways that I feel conflicted about: people compliment me on my fitter build, my parents applaud me not for enjoying it but because it has made me slimmer. I don't run to lose weight. I want to accept myself for who I am, without any reservation, and running doesn't change this goal. But when an eating-disordered girl is lauded for looking like she lost weight, it doesn't help her.

My goal this year is to stop listening to these voices. When someone compliments me on my body, I would like to be brave enough to correct them: I am stronger, not slimmer; I am happier and more relaxed, not more beautiful (whatever that means). I know people don't mean it negatively when they say such things to me, but it does contribute to an emphasis on my body as something that should be pleasing to others, not to myself.