Can we talk about weight for a minute?
I wasn’t sure quite how to tackle this topic, but I think it’s one worth discussing. Even if it’s just to document how I’m feeling now so I can refer back to it in a year or two.
If I were to go and stand on a scale right now, it would tell me a number that would bring many women to tears. I’m 20-or-so kilos heavier than when I was at my last fittest peak. I jiggle when I walk (and run!). I have cellulite. And stretch marks. I have to test all trousers with a squat test before I buy them.
And I bloody love my body.
I can’t remember a time when I’ve loved it this much.
I don’t accept it as it is.
I don’t love it despite my weight.
I love my body.
For what it does to keep me alive.
For what it does to keep me safe.
For what it does when I push it to work hard.
For what it does. Full stop.
I know that losing weight will help my body with my running.
Less fat on my body will reduce the effort required to propel it forward.
A lighter frame will reduce the stress on my joints.
If I lost weight, I’d reduce the likelihood of injury over these months of training.
All valid. All make perfect sense.
And if I lose weight during my training, great.
But I am done actively trying to shrink myself.
I do not need to make myself physically less to feel more.
This body – obese if you trust my BMI – walked the width of England this summer. 6 days along the length of Hadrian’s Wall. There were long days. There were complaints. There were blisters on blisters, sore legs, and an aching back from carrying my gear from accommodation to accomodation. We walked in the (English) summer sun, and the pouring rain.
This body is a good body.
This body deserves love and respect.
Chafing Rainbows 