I’m not putting this under a cut, though it’s a long post, because if you read my blog you’ll want to read this.
Yesterday, after I had taken two friends of mine to the gym to train together–they beginners, myself with several years of experience lifting–one of the gym trainers approached me.
“It looked like you were training them,” he said.
“They weren’t paying me or anything,” I said.
There followed some harrumphing on his part about the risk of injury and the comment, “It looked like you didn’t get much of your own workout in. You should find someone of your own level to be your workout buddy. Your friends can do group classes.”
This conversation took place against an interesting background: a man training with his clearly inexperienced girlfriend.
At the time I didn’t argue–the gym is my second home and I don’t want to upset the equilibrium there. But I was angry.
When I grew up, I definitely had the idea that women did not lift weights. My father harrumphed at women who ‘looked like bodybuilders.’ My mother was active–in fact groundbreakingly so–and did judo as a teenager in the ‘70s and ran marathons before they were in vogue. But she didn’t lift weights. She didn’t train for strength. I recall only that she would do calf raises off the lowest step of the stairs in our house in order to grow her calves and ‘balance out her big butt.’
That was what women did, to me: delicately inflected, squeamishly undertaken exercises for aesthetic effect, as purposefully disinterested and languid in their execution as Kate Moss’s heroin chic. Women did not try too hard. Women did not strain.
My young self rebelled against the idea of being seen as beautiful–or desirable, which is not the same thing, though the two are so often elided–just because my body had developed breasts and hips. I wanted a kind of beauty that was hard-fought and deserved.
So I became anorexic.
It fit the aesthetic of the time–Kate Moss and all that–but of course fell prey to the essential hypocrisy of that image. Be strong–by wasting your muscles. “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Nothing?
Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Well. For one thing, let’s examine the dichotomy set up in that famous little feel-bad soundbite (a dainty one, barely a mouthful–such a small bite one swallows it without tasting its arsenic bitterness).
Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Life’s great pleasure’s are at war. Taste something good, or feel good. One or the other. Never both.
I believed this to be true for most of my life.
It’s not.
You don’t have to choose between food and feeling good, feeling light in your body. Feeling–what is ‘thin’?
Thin is not a feeling.
Or if it is, it is not a pleasurable one. Scraped thin, like–like what, like Bilbo Baggins after his contact with the One Ring, who described himself as ‘like butter scraped over too much bread’?
‘Not too full, having eaten an amount of food that is energizing but not ennervating’? Sure. Good feeling.
I like feeling light, I like feeling like I carry my body with ease. I like being able to leap up stairs getting out of the subway and do pullups on scaffoldings in the street.
I like feeling desired and beautiful. I like it when people admire my body.
None of those feelings is ‘thin.’
Feelings–
What about the rusty tang of iron hefted overhead? The intoxicating ichor of effort on a sports field or in the gym?
What about feeling strong?
The race to lose weight is a race to the bottom. I felt ‘fat’ as an anorexic not because it was such a devious mental illnes, tut-tut those hysterical delusional women. No! I felt ‘fat’–I felt ‘heavy’–because my muscles weren’t strong nough to support me. My starved brain added to my sense of low energy and torpor. And having come to believe that feeling effervescently light and energetic was part and parcel of being ‘thin’, of course I still felt like I was ‘fat.’ I had no muscle. And my skinniness was never effortless enough to satisfy.
There’s nothing wrong with trying hard. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be proud of your body because you built it. That part of my motivation wasn’t bad.
That’s why I lift weights. That’s why I want more people of all genders to lift weights.
That’s why I get so very, very angry when men gatekeep fitness. I get so angry that fitness is still substantially gendered: women do cardio. Men do weights. Men bring their inexperienced buddies in to train with them and the trainers don’t care: there’s a long tradition of male-to-male gym initiation, and most men never get trainers. But bring women (or nonbinary people) in to the gym and suddenly you threaten the gym trainer’s core market. Because God forbid women educate themselves about lifting.
By the way, I get it, I do: women don’t need to be shamed any more about what they ‘should’ do. And men are not immune to body image issues, some of them driven to unhealthy extremes to gain muscle AND to lose body fat, just like women. And ‘strong is the new skinny’ is bullshit if what you really mean by ‘strong’ is ‘absurdly lean.’ But even government health guidelines indicate that all people should do BOTH strength training AND cardio. Even differently abled people can and do engage in a wide variety of exercise. (Several people at my pool are paraplegic, for instance). I’m not saying here is One Thing you need to do–you can get stronger without a barbell and without a gym. I am saying educate yourselves. Get stronger. Push yourselves to do more. Get strong enough that you don’t need to ask men to help you move furniture. That’s a good feeling.
Here are some resources on lifting. Go forth and conquer.
T-nation (despite the testosterone-inflected name-and of course women have testosterone too– GREAT guide to basic strength training)
And as always ask me fitness questions anytime, with the caveat that I am not a professional and clear it with your doctor before beginning a fitness routine.
RHODEY: Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have. SAM: So let’s say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they lojack us like a bunch of common criminals? RHODEY: A hundred seventeen countries want to sign this. A hundred and seventeen, Sam, and you’re just like, “Naw, it’s cool, we got it.” SAM: How long are you going to play both sides?
In a narrative sense, the sides that Rhodey and Sam pick in Captain America: Civil War are very predictable. No one’s really expecting Tony Stark’s best friend to side against him, after all, or Sam “I do what he does, just slower” Wilson to fight Steve Rogers. But in-universe, looking at the specific arguments for and against the Accords – it’s illuminating to look at how both Sam and Rhodey’s positions are informed by race.
I wanted to try using less saturated colors than usual and I kinda like the effect? Anyway, it was commissioned by love-buckybarnes :)) thank you so much I really enjoyed drawing this one!
I never tested all that well on standardized tests, but I used to love the old SAT analogies. Puppies are to Dogs, as Kittens are to Cats!
So, here’s an analogy. Sort of. Bucky is to Hydra, what the Avengers are to… blank. To the Accords, to the US, to the combined governments of the world, to SHIELD, to Secretary Ross via the UN.
Rewatching Captain America: Civil War the other day, I realized that the complete and utter control Hydra had over Bucky, to use as a weapon however they chose, at their complete discretion, that this is actually what Secretary Ross would prefer the Avengers were. Subject to the UN panel (but preferably subject to government control). The Winter Soldier is the extreme example of that control.
Secretary Ross has that pesky problem of free will to contend with. Hydra neatly removed that problem.
It’s chilling through, at least to me, to see the slippery slope that Accords would/could set in motion.
I feel like people maybe flipped out a little more than necessary, so I want to remind everyone that Yahoo tends to beat websites to death and then leave their corpses in the street – Del.icio.us was an anomaly in that respect – so it’s not like Tumblr’s going to disappear tomorrow. If Yahoo sells Tumblr we’ll hear about it first and have time to take appropriate measures.
(Who the fuck would buy Tumblr? Microsoft. Microsoft, owner of Bing, would buy Tumblr.)
That said, BACKING STUFF UP IS A GOOD IDEA. BACK UP YOUR SHIT. DO IT, LISTEN TO YOUR INTERNET FATHER. You know when I learned this? When in 2008 my livejournal was hacked and I lost five years of my life. I resurrected about 80%, and you know where that 80% came from? Google cache, Archive.org, and notification emails people happened to have saved. BACKUPS. And even then I had to copy and paste every post and repost it backdated. It took me eight months.
When del.icio.us was sold, data was lost, but more importantly, the data that remained had to be moved, which was when I discovered that about a quarter of the fanfics I’d bookmarked were now deleted, locked, or otherwise missing (this was pre-AO3 but fanfics can be deleted from AO3, and they can be deleted from Tumblr). I rescued a few from archive.org but I also lost a good number, which is why I use Evernote to archive not just the URLs but the stories themselves.
No technology is infallible, unhackable, virus-proof, or incorruptible. Back up your hard drive, or at least the parts with your favorite music and family photos. Back up your tumblr, or at least the entries that are important to you. Love that fanfic? Save a copy of it.
You know what happens to people who don’t back up their shit? They get sanctimonious but ultimately correct lectures from Reed Richards.