The Perfect Body

For most of the time that I was doing Ironman triathlons (15 years) I had basically what is considered by the beauty industry “the perfect body.” I was during this time using My Fitness Pal to log every bite of food I ate, and also logging all of my exercise, including walking, mowing the lawn, etc. I look back at photos of myself in that body and sometimes wonder if no one wondered if I was anorexic. Was I anorexic? I don’t know. I know it was very hard to stop counting calories and is a continuing temptation, years later. There was a feedback loop I enjoyed that came from counting calories and checking off on my list that the food I was eating was “good” and “not too much,” and also in “earning” treats for myself.

I haven’t done an Ironman for a couple of years now and my body is—not perfect. As I was staring at myself in the mirror today, I remembered that my goal is not to have a perfect body. It is not perfection of any kind. It is, in fact, treating myself with kindness and not punishing myself for my daughter’s death and my subsequent loss of faith—not anymore. I want to exercise now because I enjoy exercise. Yes, sometimes I like seeing numbers go up while weight training. But that is not the goal. The goal is to help my body so that as I age, I continue to be able to do things that I want to do.

I would like to do races, yes. But it’s not an emergency if I don’t get to do races this year as I finally take enough time off running completely to let my years-long Achilles injury heal. I think that I’ve possibly found a PT who is able to listen to me express the level of pain I’m at and adjust the aggressiveness of treatment so that I can continue going long-term enough to heal. I hope.

As I age, I actually don’t need to look like the women featured in videos online who have versions of “the perfect body.” I know how that is done. It is done through a kind of starvation and constant self-monitoring. And no matter how much they try to convince you that it’s EASY, it is not EASY. And actually, it is a form of self-harm in my opinion. Or at least it would be for me.

I intend to age beautifully. Not gracefully. Not refusing to age.

I intend to let my gray hair continue to grow in. I intend to grow pudgy spots. I intend to wear loose clothing instead of punishing myself with constant reminders of how thin I am NOT.

I intend to enjoy my body and not require perfection of what is inside or outside of me. I am flawed. I am learning to embrace my flaws and stop kicking myself for them. This is a long road for me. I still struggle with other manifestations of what is probably an eating disorder, but is also basically classic perfectionism. I don’t always love myself. Actually, I am not sure that I ever love myself. But I see the problem at least and am determined to work on it.

This means looking at my body and watching as it moves more toward imperfection.

I do try to eat well, but I’m trying to move more towards thinking about doing that as a kindness to myself, as a way to give myself more resources to feel happy, not as a way to try to enforce a standard of perfection that is mostly made by men who don’t adhere to anything like such standards themselves.

I will not go back to counting calories. This is a vow to myself. That is a path towards punishment and I don’t deserve that. Not then but certainly not now, either.