The Body I Own.
I have been bitten, caught the bug. I am now one of those annoying people on your facebook and twitter feeds that posts sweat-soaked selfies and gloat about miles ran before you bothered to get out of bed. I am just a little smug. That'll be the endorphins. I've embraced the world of fitness, of healthy eating, of HIIT, of chia seeds and quinoa (pronounced keen-wa, thank you Google!), of obstacle racing and marathon training and seeking out thrills to test the limits of my body.
What a twat, I hear you say. Who cares that I hit a sub 30 5k (eh?!) and it made me fist-pump whilst out on the streets of Feltham. I'm currently loving my new found passion for fitness and relishing the appreciation it's given me for my body. The only one I have. The body that gave me two beautiful children and has seen me through a marathon and more.
I apologise that my recent joy for healthy living may irk you somewhat, but I can't promise you it'll end any time soon.
I am 33 years old. 33. And in all of those 33 years, this is the first time I can recall truly loving my body. There were moments in pregnancy when I had an appreciation for it. Who couldn't marvel at the wonder of growing another human being in there. Wow, and I did that twice! I loved my bump but grimaced at the stretch marks. Loved the kicks but dismayed at the 'cankles'. And the 'glow'? More like a sweaty gurn in my case.
I sailed through my teens and twenties absolutely hating the skin I was in. Never skinny enough. And at times I really was. I restricted food, denied indulgencies, dropped pounds and never gained an ounce of respect for the potential that my body could bring. I was miserable, constanly comparing, and a slave to the scales. What a waste of time all that was! One day I will really open up about the full scale of my issues in this area but that is a can of worms to be opened in another post one day... A post where I'm willing to recall the misery... this is a post of celebration!
Celebrating the human form, my human form. Not perfection but perfect for me. It's helped me achieve many medals as I've taken on new challenges that I'd never have contemplated before. I can look at other women and admire their form without immediately feeling my worth is somehow threatened. I work out to take on the next challenge, rather than see a number fall on a scale. My mood is not determined by a number... And that feels amazing.
It's a huge step for me and I wish I'd discovered this passion for running and fitness years ago. So, expect more sweaty images as I share my progress and achievements. I'm not just celebrating a run, I'm enjoying finally loving the body I own and the journey it is taking me on. About bloody time!
I have been bitten, caught the bug. I am now one of those annoying people on your facebook and twitter feeds that posts sweat-soaked selfies and gloat about miles ran before you bothered to get out of bed. I am just a little smug. That'll be the endorphins. I've embraced the world of fitness, of healthy eating, of HIIT, of chia seeds and quinoa (pronounced keen-wa, thank you Google!), of obstacle racing and marathon training and seeking out thrills to test the limits of my body.
What a twat, I hear you say. Who cares that I hit a sub 30 5k (eh?!) and it made me fist-pump whilst out on the streets of Feltham. I'm currently loving my new found passion for fitness and relishing the appreciation it's given me for my body. The only one I have. The body that gave me two beautiful children and has seen me through a marathon and more.
I apologise that my recent joy for healthy living may irk you somewhat, but I can't promise you it'll end any time soon.
I am 33 years old. 33. And in all of those 33 years, this is the first time I can recall truly loving my body. There were moments in pregnancy when I had an appreciation for it. Who couldn't marvel at the wonder of growing another human being in there. Wow, and I did that twice! I loved my bump but grimaced at the stretch marks. Loved the kicks but dismayed at the 'cankles'. And the 'glow'? More like a sweaty gurn in my case.
I sailed through my teens and twenties absolutely hating the skin I was in. Never skinny enough. And at times I really was. I restricted food, denied indulgencies, dropped pounds and never gained an ounce of respect for the potential that my body could bring. I was miserable, constanly comparing, and a slave to the scales. What a waste of time all that was! One day I will really open up about the full scale of my issues in this area but that is a can of worms to be opened in another post one day... A post where I'm willing to recall the misery... this is a post of celebration!
Celebrating the human form, my human form. Not perfection but perfect for me. It's helped me achieve many medals as I've taken on new challenges that I'd never have contemplated before. I can look at other women and admire their form without immediately feeling my worth is somehow threatened. I work out to take on the next challenge, rather than see a number fall on a scale. My mood is not determined by a number... And that feels amazing.
It's a huge step for me and I wish I'd discovered this passion for running and fitness years ago. So, expect more sweaty images as I share my progress and achievements. I'm not just celebrating a run, I'm enjoying finally loving the body I own and the journey it is taking me on. About bloody time!
Comments
Post a Comment